Lost
by Joan Powers
Summary: GSR When Sara disappears from a crime scene, the CSI team scrambles to locate her. During the course of their investigation, they are also puzzled by Grissom’s behavior. COMPLETE Chapter 10 has been posted.
1. Chapter 1

Lost

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** This story, started several months ago, was partially inspired by two excellent GSR fanfic stories – "Baby" by Ms.Grits and "When the Dust Clears" by Lasrevinu. They were the first to lead me to see GSR in a slightly different light. Thanks for the insight ladies! I also wrote this story to fill in some of the blanks left by Season 6. While Missing might be a more apt title, I've chosen Lost partially in homage to the TV show. My other reasons will be evident as the story progresses. In order to complete this story in a timely fashion, I plan to post weekly updates. Thanks to PhDelicious, Ms.Grits, and Stichik for putting up with all my nagging questions.

**Type:** Suspense, G/S angst, G/S romance

**Summary:** When Sara disappears from a crime scene, the CSI team scrambles to locate her. During the course of their investigation, they are also puzzled by Grissom's behavior

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Season 6 (up to but **NOT** including "Daddy's Little Girl" 6.12)

**Rating:** T/R

**Chapter 1** Warrick

**Tuesday 6 a.m. The Lab**

As a general rule, Warrick's stomach would be growling loudly by now – practically howling for sustenance, especially with the strict dietary regime his well intentioned wife had recently instigated. Not today. In fact, at this particular moment, food was far from his mind. He felt slightly queasy as he once again painstakingly recounted his activities over the past hours to the rest of the team, who were clustered about the conference table.

With the routine hustle and bustle of the evening, over five hours had elapsed since anyone had seen or spoken with Sara. That in itself wasn't entirely unusual. Warrick had been the last person confirmed to have contact with her.

She and Warrick had been working a homicide crime scene in a luxury condominium complex. Around 1 a.m., Warrick had stepped out, mumbling something under his breath about needing to get some additional film for his camera from the Denali. Even Sara had smirked at that feeble excuse, yet she'd nodded with understanding. He needed some privacy so he could call Tina from his cell phone. Like all newlyweds, especially those who married as quickly as they had; spending minimal time getting to know one another first, the first year was a challenging adjustment period

Normally Warrick tried to avoid attending to personal business while he was working. After his experience with Holly Gribbs, he'd learned that lesson the hard way. Yet, just before he'd left for work that evening, he and Tina had gotten into an especially nasty argument which had quickly gotten ugly. The insults had been flying. He'd left abruptly, not saying good bye, and loudly slammed the door on his way out. Like many men, he was skilled at compartmentalizing his thoughts, leaving work for work, and home for home. However, his wife's bitter accusations and his own angry words had continued to taunt him, echoing in his head, distracting him, making it difficult to concentrate on doing his job.

Fully aware that a phone call wouldn't solve their problems, he'd just wanted to touch base with Tina. To tell her that he loved her and acknowledge that they needed to discuss their problems later, rather than simply pretending that the fight had never happened. That technique wasn't working. Although his decision to marry had been hasty, he wasn't one to simply give up when the transition became difficult. He'd made a commitment to this woman and they, rather _he_ needed to figure out how to make their relationship work better.

Besides, everything was under control. Grissom had left over an hour ago with the body, and Sara had already started collecting evidence at the main crime scene where the murder had taken place, in the living room, which was beneath the open master bedroom loft. The scene had been secured by two patrolmen who were zealously guarding the yellow crime scene tape suspended before the front door of the unit. At least four private security men had flocked to the lobby as well. Warrick had grinned when he saw them – cop wanna-bes that couldn't make the grade -- too old, too out of shape, or too unstable. They were chomping at the bit, eager at the prospect of seeing a little action during their otherwise dull job. He'd managed to evade their annoying questions as he swiftly stepped out of the building.

Unfortunately, Tina hadn't been terribly receptive to his overture. Apparently she needed more time to cool down, so his attempt to soothe her had been in vain. Then on his return trip, he was trapped by some unruly neighbors in the complex, primarily motivated by concern for their own safety and privacy. They'd assembled in the posh private lobby, demanding to know what was happening. He and the uniformed officers, along with the equally nosy security detail, had their hands full fielding questions.

Warrick had tried to utilize the opportunity to gain information from the neighbors about any suspicious activity that night, but they were woefully unobservant when it came to matters that didn't directly pertain to them. The security men hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary either. Warrick hadn't been certain about their reliability, even though they were well paid and wore sharp uniforms. One of the security guards had smelled suspiciously of alcohol. When he'd finally returned to the unit, their crime scene, Sara's kit, along with some bagged and tagged samples were neatly lined up in the living room, but she was gone.

Even then, he hadn't been overly concerned. Things came up during the course of an investigation. While he hadn't seen her walking past him in the lobby, with all the excitement, he could've easily missed her. Perhaps she was outside, looking for prints by the broken window on the first floor? Another detective could've stopped by and briefly taken her to assist with another scene. Or, knowing how independent Sara could be, it was possible that she'd had a hunch that she decided to investigate on her own. Since he'd driven them both to the scene, he assumed it was highly likely she was in the vicinity. He didn't think much of it. After checking Sara's notes, he became engrossed in finishing up the scene.

Later, when he'd completed that area, he hadn't been certain if Sara had finished the master bedroom loft so he'd tried contacting her on his cell. Or had he?

What was wrong with him? Why was he having trouble keeping his thoughts straight? He couldn't still be distracted by his fight with Tina. Or was fatigue was playing tricks with his memory?

"What time was it?" Grissom asked sharply.

Then he realized what was throwing him off -- Grissom's attitude. Although it wasn't a pronounced change, the manner in which he spoke differed. This felt more like an inquisition than a simple fact finding session. Thus, Warrick was flustered and felt somewhat defensive. He hadn't done anything wrong, yet Grissom's subtle change in tone seemed to imply otherwise. Since when did his supervisor speak to him in that fashion?

Grissom's unusual behavior was confusing. In all probability, there was a logical explanation for Sara's absence; it wasn't as if this were the first time that a CSI's whereabouts had been unaccounted for over several hours. In the past, those incidents hadn't even warranted a face to face meeting. Typically it resulted from a communication mix-up: a broken cell phone, an emergency had come up and the CSI neglected to notify the supervisor, something as simple as that.

Over the years, his supervisor had been extremely supportive during intense situations; look at that nightmare they'd recently experienced with Nick. Like it or not, Grissom had always been the anchor which supported their group and kept them tightly focused on their jobs, even when it was tough. It wasn't like him to over react (or for that matter, to react) to much of anything; only on rare occasions had Warrick observed any gaps in the man's typically smooth professional exterior.

"I…I don't remember," Warrick replied, feeling like an idiot. He hadn't thought anything was wrong. "Maybe around three? If I tried calling, she didn't pick up. Then I brought the evidence back to the lab and I've been working with it until now."

"Did anyone have any contact with Sara after 1 am?" Grissom sternly inquired.

"I punched her number around three. Wanted to run something by her. But a fight broke out in front of me, so I never completed the call," Greg explained.

Nick reminded them, "Most likely Sara walked out of the building to check something out. Warrick was busy with the neighbors so he didn't see her. Then Sara couldn't get a ride, 'cause her cell was down or maybe she was in an area with bad reception. She's probably hitching a ride with some uniforms as we speak, don't you think?"

That made perfect sense to Warrick, who firmly nodded in agreement. But the grim expression on Grissom's face indicated that he wasn't buying it. Then it occurred to Warrick. "What are you not telling us?"

All eyes focused upon Grissom.

"Do you know who our homicide victim was?" Grissom asked.

"Rex Granger,' Warrick replied.

"I just completed a detailed background check on him. His brother is a former associate of Walter Gordon. They worked as engineers at the same company for years," Grissom grimly stated.

The tension in the room rose subtly at the mention of that name. Nick involuntarily swallowed hard, his eyes fixed on Grissom.

Catherine reminded them. "But what does that matter? Walter Gordon is dead."

Grissom uncomfortably cleared his throat while avoiding Nick's intense gaze. "We have reason to believe he had an accomplice."

"Based on what?" Nick's voice rose.

Uncomfortably Grissom admitted, "Based on new evidence."

Nick's eyes widened but before he could speak, Catherine interceded, "Ok, so our vic had ties to Walter Gordon and it's making you nervous." She looked to Grissom, half expecting him to deny it. She was mildly surprised when he didn't. "That's a normal reaction -- that makes sense. But it doesn't matter Gil, it doesn't fit. Walter Gordon had a specific agenda, to retaliate for the so-called wrongful imprisonment of his daughter Kelly. The MO isn't the same. Nick was lured to a fake crime scene. We received a ransom note. This is an authentic crime, there's a body. Even if Walter Gordon had an accomplice, what purpose would his kidnapping another CSI prove? What reason would this guy have to continue the vendetta? It doesn't make sense."

Grissom appeared to be considering her words as Nick continued to study him.

Strangely enough, Warrick was able to breathe a little easier. The pieces were finally coming together for him. No wonder Grissom was rattled and acting so oddly. He hadn't been accusing him, nor was he disappointed with him. Nick's horrendous ordeal -- of course it would rattle even the man of steel. Even though the connection to the former crime was tenuous at best, Grissom's response had been emotional rather than logical. He was just looking out for his people. That sounded like the Grissom that he'd known for years.

Catherine continued, "The most likely scenario is the one that Nick described. You know that. Have Brass check with his guys. Warrick, you and I can go examine the crime scene again to see if everything checks out, determine if there are any exits we weren't aware off, stuff like that, along with scanning the immediate vicinity to see if Sara's returned. The rest of you can analyze the data we've already collected. If Sara's absence is connected to the crime, the evidence should tell us that part of the story as well."

Greg eagerly volunteered, "I'm willing to stay 'til we confirm Sara's whereabouts. I don't mind working a double." Others murmured in agreement.

"It goes without saying that you can count us all in," Catherine spoke for the group.

Warrick inwardly groaned, for Tina wouldn't be pleased. But this was another obligation he needed and wanted to honor, on the off chance that something might have happened to Sara. Later, on his way home, he'd have to pick up some flowers as a peace offering for his wife.

Catherine rose, "Let's go." They began to file out of the room.

"Excuse me," Nick pushed his way through the crowd to follow Grissom down the hall.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2 Catherine

Lost

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** Once again, I plan to post weekly updates. Great to hear from all of you! Thanks as always to PhDelicious for the beta work.

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Season 6 (up to but **NOT** including "Daddy's Little Girl" 6.12)

**Chapter 2** Catherine

**Tuesday 6:25 a.m. The Lab**

Catherine impatiently checked her watch as she discretely passed by the locker room for the third time. Hovering by the door frame, she overheard Warrick insisting over his cell phone,

"It's part of the job Tina, you know that." He was seated on the bench, hunched over his phone.

Although she hated to interrupt, they were already starting a double. There was work to be done. Besides, the sooner they confirmed Sara's location, the sooner they'd get to go home. Reluctantly she stepped through the doorway and cleared her throat to attract Warrick's attention.

"Uh…I gotta go. We'll finish this later." He closed his phone and joined Catherine.

XXXXXXXX

**Tuesday 6:45 a.m. Enroute to Rex Grainger's condo**

Since Warrick had offered to drive, Catherine sat in the passenger seat. She was concerned about him; he seemed pre-occupied -- not his usual easy-going self.

Catherine had always felt free to stick her nose into other's people's business. With her instincts, she felt she had a natural talent. Her intentions were always good and her interference was occasionally even helpful. Obviously, the conversation she'd recently overheard indicated that Warrick was having trouble with his marriage. But in this case, strangely enough, she was holding back. She hadn't openly given her blessing to this union. Perhaps Warrick would get the wrong impression if she tried to give him advice? Would he question her motives? Still, she had to ask.

"You okay?"

Distracted, he replied, "Yeah, I'm fine." His eyes remained focused on the road. Then he seemed to reconsider. "I don't get women. They say they love you and then all they want to do is change you."

"Can't help you there. The first year is rough, the stories I could tell you." Her whole marriage had been rough, but she didn't want to discourage him. "Relationships are tricky. They take a lot of time and energy. And even then, you mess up."

Who was she to give advice with her broken marriage and no long term relationships? Well, there had been Chris, but he'd been cheating on her too, so technically that didn't count. Did she just have poor judgment in men?

"Hang in there Warrick, it'll come together," she replied with a conviction she didn't necessarily feel. Apparently he didn't notice, for he grinned weakly in response.

Despite their love life issues, at least she and Warrick were playing the game, making an effort to get out there, rather than moping on the sidelines. Juggling a relationship and a family with this type of career was extremely challenging. Given the marathon unpredictable hours and the macabre nature of the job, it could drain the life out of you if you let it.

Catherine was bound and determined that would never happen to her. While her personal life was literally held together by spit and bandages, at least she had a life outside the lab.

Even Nick and Greg managed to squeeze in an occasional date, along with other outside activities such as softball leagues or going to clubs.

She worried about Grissom. In the past, he'd periodically made an effort to go on dates. Yet his attempts had been sporadic in nature and in the last few years he'd stopped altogether. Not that he had confided in her, but she trusted her gut about those types of things. She was afraid that he'd given too much of himself to the job; that it had consumed him and now there was nothing left for him to share with anyone else outside of those confines. The thought made her sad.

That reminded her, "Grissom was a bit rough on you there."

If it had been any time but the present, she would've butted in the instant Grissom started snapping at Warrick in the conference room. But the past year had been a rough one for their personal and professional relationship with the loss of the camera photo card, her concealing her association with a potential suspect in a case, adding to the general tension involved with adjusting to her new role as a supervisor. Fortunately, things were improving between the two of them. Although she was no longer swing shift supervisor, she'd retained seniority and some privileges. Since the team had reunited, Grissom seemed to be going out of his way to defer to her, to allow her to take the reigns on higher profile cases. She appreciated that and she didn't want to rock the boat. So she'd held her tongue earlier that morning, which was damn hard. But she'd done it.

"Yeah, he wasn't himself. But I have to admit just hearing Walter Gordon's name linked to this case gave me the creeps too," Warrick confessed.

"Good point," she agreed, though inwardly she suspected something else was behind Grissom's uncharacteristic demeanor.

"Let's drive around the neighborhood first, see if Sara is walking around there."

"Sounds good to me."

XXXXXXXXXXXX

**Tuesday 7:05 a.m. Rex Grainger's Condo**

"No sign of Sara." Warrick sighed, craning his neck as he scanned the unit.

He and Catherine were standing in the great room of Rex Granger's condo. Sara's kit was still sitting near the bottom of the staircase to the loft, she hadn't returned to retrieve it. Catherine was starting to feel uneasy, wondering if something had actually happened to her. She hoped reviewing the crime scene, which was also Sara's last known location, would reveal some clues.

She assured herself that her concern was foolish. Most likely she'd be receiving a call any minute, from Sara herself, apologizing for the inconvenience she'd caused, with a perfectly reasonable explanation for her absence. Catherine chided herself, knowing better than to borrow trouble. Weird things happened in the field, everybody knew that. Their recent experience with Nick had made them all a little paranoid, that's all.

Bright sunlight shone through the large unadorned windows. The spacious room was oddly furnished with some sleek modern furniture, of mostly tan leather or chrome and glass, mixed with some decidedly older over-stuffed blue plaid pieces. Several chrome bookshelves loaded with texts crowded a corner nook where an oversized oak desk with a computer sat. The screen saver periodically flashed brightly colored complex geometric shapes. Just glancing at the bright patterns gave Catherine a headache.

Catherine concluded that this guy must have paid an interior decorator and then decided to keep his old stuff as well.

"Guess you can't buy style," she chuckled to herself.

"And what's wrong with a guy keeping his own stuff?" Warrick accused, a bit harshly.

Surprised, Catherine paused. This wasn't about the case, she'd inadvertently hit a nerve. "Well, nothing I guess. Just depends what type of message you want to send."

"How about, this is my home and I want to be comfortable?" he glared.

"Um..War..I get your point but I'm not the person you need to have this conversation with," Catherine suggested diplomatically. "Maybe you and Tina should take a little time off, go some place for the weekend where you can get away from everyday life and discuss these issues?"

Warrick turned away from her, intently examining the blood pool that had permanently stained the plush off white area rug.

Realizing she'd overstepped her boundaries, she diverted the conversation back to the case, "So, you wanna talk me through your scenario here?"

"The housekeeper found the vic here around 10:15 pm," Warrick gestured to the chalk outline near the center of the room, which was also adjacent to the open stairway that led to the loft. "Shot once in the head with a twenty two."

Catherine cringed. "Burglary gone bad or calculated murder?" Her tone indicated her opinion. "Sounds like the perp knew what he wanted."

A burglar caught in the act, desperate enough to shoot at the owner, would only be trying to buy escape time, thus his hurried multiple shots would most likely spray the walls or only produce a flesh wound. A single shot to the head took concentration, precision and careful aim, for it would be all too easy to miss. The odds were against this being a random hit.

Warrick agreed with her. "I'm leaning towards murder too. As far as the housekeeper could tell, nothing's missing. She came in later than usual because she misunderstood and thought her employer was going to be out of town." He recalled, "She was pretty upset, but there's a plasma TV, a computer, and a high end stereo system right in front of us. Sure doesn't sound like a burglary."

As she examined the blood spray on the tan leather couch, Catherine chuckled to herself. Of course the newer tan leather couch was trashed rather than the ratty blue plaid piece sitting right beside it. The cosmos must have a bizarre sense of humor. She wondered, "You have a chance to figure out the angle of the shot?"

"I was working on the computer simulation when Grissom called our 'meeting'. That ought to tell us where the perp was standing. From the wound and the positioning of the body, we believe the shooter may have been hiding in the loft."

Catherine continued to stroll about the living area. She noticed that a smaller side window near the desk was broken. "You've gotta be kidding me," she laughed.

With a wry twist to his lips, he smirked, "Yeah, this guy thinks he's dealing with a bunch of amateurs. A rookie might think that a robber broke the window to get access to the condo. But the broken glass is all on the outside; clearly indicating that it's a diversionary technique. I tried to lift prints anyway."

"Of course." That was standard procedure. "How did you and Sara divide the work again?"

"She drew the overall sketch and took photos of the body. As I left to get film, she said she'd check out the loft and then help me with the living room."

"Did she complete it? Let's check it out."

As they climbed to the loft, Warrick's eyes rested guiltily on Sara's kit, which still resided at the base of the stairs. Catherine could tell that he felt apprehensive because she hadn't yet returned for it. Her heart went out to him, first that fateful coin toss and Nick, now trouble with Tina and this.

"Her notes and samples were here on her kit, bagged and tagged." He'd brought them back to the lab to expedite their processing but left her kit behind in case she needed it. Once they reached the bedroom, he referred to Sara's notes which he'd brought with him, "Sink drain, tub drain."

_What a set up for a single person, _Catherine thought. The bedroom was completely open, overlooking the great room, separated by an oak railing. The master bath room was luxurious with fancy tiling, a large shower stall and whirlpool tub

"Checking for clean up," Catherine nodded, "though the splatter pattern doesn't show a void, suggesting it wasn't a close range shot."

"Luminal didn't reveal any blood in the master bathroom," he read. He scanned further. "She lifted some prints from the railing, with the possibility that the perp was hiding up here. She also checked out the fire escape but wasn't able to lift any legible prints. The only other samples of interest that Sara notes are some white flecks or pebbles that she found on the bedroom floor." Beating Catherine to it, he assured her, "Hodges is working on it as we speak."

Warrick moved across the loft to examine the window that led to the fire escape.

"What was the TOD for the vic?" she asked as she scanned the suite.

"Approximately 8 pm. The security desk notes that Mr. Grainger entered the lobby around 7:50 pm. We've confiscated their log and security tapes. Greg and Nick are looking at them, to confirm this, as well as to identify any suspicious persons, though the log book doesn't reveal any one other than residents entering within a several hour window. Hopefully we can catch Sara leaving the building on the security tape as well. There's still residue from her fingerprint powder on the window frame so I doubt she left that way. Other than that fire escape, it's the only way out."

"The perp was waiting for him," Catherine spoke with certainty.

Warrick's phone rang and he answered it. Rather than news about Sara, it sounded like it was Hodges with results. Catherine couldn't help herself; she wandered over towards the closet, which she suspected would be enormous. She opened the door, just to be nosy and check it out. The space was long and thin, like an alley way, yet it provided more than ample room.

_Closets like these are wasted on men_, Catherine thought. It wasn't even half full. The systematic arrangement of the clothing suggested either that the victim had a great housekeeper or that he was some type of engineer or neat freak. Even the shoes were lined up in an orderly fashion.

Something crunched underneath her foot, so she flashed her light towards the floor illuminating several flecks of white powder. Nearby on the floor, she noticed several other pea-sized white chunks. _This is strange, what is this stuff_, she wondered, taking care not to step on more of the evidence. Perhaps the perp had hidden in the closest, waiting for the victim to return to his condo, and then shot him from the top of the stairs?

Then her shoe bumped against a heavy hiking boot, which was sticking out at an odd angle. Catherine bent down to examine it. A long brown hair caught on it attracted her attention. Perhaps Rex had a girl friend she rationalized, her concern mounting, for most men didn't wear their hair that long. She bent down on her hands and knees to scrutinize the area more closely. Her care paid off when she located several small blood droplets leading towards the back of the closet. She was getting a very bad feeling about this. She strongly suspected that these samples didn't belong to their victim. Or to his girlfriend.

"Hey," Warrick joined her.

"Any updates on Sara?" she asked optimistically, though her expectations were plummeting.

"Nothing."

Hoping to disprove her growing theory, she asked, "This guy have a girlfriend?"

"Doubtful, there aren't any items in the condo suggesting that. The housekeeper had no clue. Grissom and Nick are interviewing the vic's brother, he might know."

Catherine's eyebrow rose. "Is that a good idea?"

Grissom had implied that the victim's brother had a close association with Walter Gordon. Given Nick's ordeal and Grissom's odd behavior earlier that day, this could be a poor combination. Then again, she'd rarely known either of the two men to act unprofessionally.

Warrick agreed, "I'm sure they'll be fine. Besides Brass is going with them; he'll keep things in line. Wanna know what that white stuff was?"

"Sure." She was only half paying attention, for she was still mentally processing what she'd just discovered.

"Gypsum, more commonly known as drywall."

Things began to click together for Catherine and her adrenaline level rose. She shone her light towards the far end of the closet. Several suits were hanging neatly but they lacked the pristine order that characterized the rest of the closet.

"Drywall?"

She strode towards the clothing and roughly shoved it aside. Shining her light on the wall revealed that the color of the plaster there didn't exactly match the adjacent pieces. Shifting her light to the edge, she discovered the sharp points of nails sticking through.

Nausea almost overwhelmed her. This couldn't be happening. It was the start of another nightmare. She dreaded telling Grissom, but she would. She had to. It was apparent to her that he still carried a torch for Sara and was starting to regret that he'd done nothing about it now that it might be too late. It was going to be another marathon shift for no one would be going home until their missing CSI was found.

"Sara's in trouble."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Lost

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** This story will be updated weekly. Glad to hear you're enjoying it! Thanks as always to PhDelicious for the beta work.

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Season 6 (up to but **NOT** including "Daddy's Little Girl" 6.12)

**Chapter 3** Nick

**Tuesday 6:50 am the Lab**

Greg and Nick were analyzing the surveillance tape from the luxury condo lobby. It was slow and tedious work, which gave Nick plenty of opportunity to dwell upon his thoughts. While he considered Sara a friend as well as his coworker, she wasn't his highest propriety at the moment. The last time something like this had happened, when the whereabouts of a CSI were unaccounted for, there had been a perfectly reasonable explanation. (His recent nightmarish experience, a freakish exception, didn't count.) He was fully convinced that Sara was riding in a squad car at that moment. Most likely she'd taken a walk to follow a hunch and her cell batteries had died, leaving her without transportation.

It was unsettling that they hadn't been able to spot Sara leaving the building on the videotape. Yet, there were other ways out of the building. It was even possible that she'd climbed out the fire escape in an attempt to determine the escape route of the perp.

Grissom's revelation that there was additional evidence for the Walter Gordon case was foremost in Nick's mind. Unlike his supervisor, he wasn't convinced that this news had any bearing upon Sara's situation. As Catherine pointed out, the circumstances varied dramatically, the only common thread being this distant connection to the mastermind of his ordeal.

What was this new evidence? How long had Grissom possessed it? And most importantly, why had he kept it secret? The reaction of the team in the conference room along with his tentative probing of Greg since then suggested that they hadn't been aware of this information. Why had Grissom kept this from them?

Dwelling on that incident was dangerous for him. It had been a horrendous experience which had left scars on him. He still woke up at night, gasping for air, clawing at the invisible walls of his Plexiglas coffin. Even the mention of Walter Gordon's name caused him to inwardly cringe. He didn't like anything having that kind of power over him.

That was partly why he had visited Kelly. He couldn't change what had happened but his and her actions would impact the future. As tempting as it was, he couldn't carry the anger and the fear. Its staggering weight would crush him; snuffing the very breath out of him. He had to forgive in order to move on, to make his life more than something just to be endured. By speaking with Kelly and encouraging her to do the same, he thought he'd made some progress. Given his gut reaction to the suggestion of new evidence, now he wasn't so sure.

His emotions riding high, and intent on confronting Grissom, he'd hurried after his supervisor when he'd left the conference room. Yet Grissom had managed to evade him, stepping into the men's room. For a moment, Nick had actually contemplated following him into the rest room, to hound him for some answers.

What was he doing, going off half-cocked like that? Nick had realized how pathetic he seemed. He needed to calm down so he'd taken a brisk walk outside, getting some fresh air, and then he'd returned to work on the case. His opportunity to learn about the new evidence would come soon enough. Despite Grissom's discomfort, Nick wasn't about to let that subject rest.

When Nick glanced up to see his supervisor striding past the AV lab, wearing his jacket, he seized his chance. He sprang out of his seat and leapt to follow him. Catching up to Grissom in the hallway, he asked, "You're going to interview Sal Grainger?"

"Yes," Grissom replied tersely, not slowing his pace.

Matching his tempo, Nick walked beside him and firmly stated, "I'm going with you."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Grissom murmured, trying not to slow down.

Nick stepped in front of him, blocking Grissom's way and forcing him to stop as well. "I do. I'm going with you," he insisted, holding his supervisor's gaze. He wasn't about to argue with Grissom. This was something he needed to do.

Sensing the younger man's intensity, Grissom wisely didn't pursue it further.

"Brass is meeting us there. You can drive."

XXXXXXX

**Tuesday 7:10 a.m. Enroute to Sal Grainger's home**

"What do you know about Sal?" Nick started the conversation rolling as he drove them to Rex Granger's brother's home in Henderson.

"Sal was a mechanical engineer who took early retirement. As I mentioned earlier, he and Walter Gordon worked together for years. Sal's wife died several years ago -- car accident, I think. He has an adult daughter living at home. Hopefully, he can tell us if Rex had any enemies that might resort to murder."

How like Grissom, sticking to the case at hand. The fact that he knew even this much showed he'd already delved into the man's background. "Let's hear the rest," Nick prodded, not willing to let it go, despite the other man's reluctance.

Grissom sighed. "Nick, it's not substative."

"It's gotta be something or you wouldn't have brought it up," Nick countered.

_Or you wouldn't be so rattled_, he wanted to say. But wisely he held back. After working with Grissom for over eight years, he'd learned to recognize when his supervisor wasn't exactly himself. Something was off. His voice seemed strained; he didn't seem as confident or in control as he usually did. Hopefully this interview would put some of his concerns to rest.

"Several months ago, a nursery worker brought a cassette tape to the lab," Grissom sheepishly explained.

Nick was fully aware of that tape. He'd spoken his heart into it when he didn't think he was going to make it. He was slightly embarrassed that Grissom might have listened to his private confessions. Then again, the entire lab had watched his ordeal in that makeshift coffin via video feed. And he hadn't said anything that he hadn't meant. Nick had nothing to be ashamed of.

Attempting to remain casual, he asked, "What did you find?"

"There's another voice in the background of the tape. Someone coaching Walter. Possibly female. It's only a short segment. But someone helped make that tape. It wasn't enough evidence to officially proceed, so off the record I started digging into Walter's background, along with possible associates."

"Why didn't you tell me?" For Nick, the direct approach was always the best.

Grissom squirmed in his seat. "It didn't seem…prudent."

Anger simmered in Nick. It was better not to bring it up? Better to ignore the truth because it might be upsetting? Certainly, this information was disturbing to him but Nick wasn't afraid to face it. Life wasn't about hiding from your emotions, not for him. He wasn't afraid to experience them

More quietly Grissom added, "You've been through enough Nick. You need to put it behind you."

Who was Grissom to make that decision for him? Did his supervisor think he was weak? That he needed to be protected? Nick was offended by the implication that he couldn't handle it. He wasn't a child that needed coddling.

Swallowing his resentment, Nick replied, "Well Grissom, there may be some truth to that. But if there's more to the story, I need to know. Whatever it is, I have to face it, not run away. I'm not a coward."

If Sal Granger had had anything to do with his ordeal, Nick needed to look him in the eye. He had to face Sal so fear wouldn't control him

Grissom turned toward the passenger side window to press a button on his cell phone.

Classic Grissom. Avoid the emotional parts. At first Nick assumed the phone call was a feeble diversion to end their discussion. Then he realized whom Grissom was most likely trying to contact.

"Still no response?"

"No."

As much as he wanted to continue their discussion, Nick held back. Grissom seemed worn out; the lines about his eyes and mouth were more prominent. Nick couldn't understand why he was overreacting to this situation. Was it because Sara was involved? There had always been something between the two of them, though it hadn't been as noticeable in recent years.

Then again, maybe he was reading too much into things, Grissom's concern could be simply due to the fact that one of the members of his team was unaccounted for. Nick had been tempted to ask Greg if Grissom had acted this way when he was abducted. Yet for the most part, Nick had long ago discovered that no one in the lab cared to discuss that bleak incident so he was reluctant to prod them.

Besides, even if Grissom had been calmer during Nick's plight, no one had known exactly how prolonged and horrifying that ordeal would be.

Now they did.

XXXXXXXX

**Tuesday 7:30 a.m. Sal Grainger's home**

"I told you, I was watching a movie with my daughter last night," Sal Granger insisted impatiently from the confines of his easy chair in the cramped living room.

"Can she confirm that?" Grissom asked.

Sal was clearly offended by the question. "C'mon you people, Rex was my brother. It's bad enough to be woken in the middle of the night and dragged down to the morgue to identify his body and now you're acting like I'm a suspect?"

"Sir, these are just routine questions that we're required to ask by law," Brass assured him in a smooth professional tone. "Would your daughter be able to confirm that?"

"Ronnie didn't get any sleep last night. She's not well and I'm certainly not gonna wake her up now."

"That won't be necessary, she can confirm it later," Brass diplomatically suggested. "Did your brother have any enemies? Anyone who might want to kill him?"

"You've gotta be kiddin' me. Rex wasn't the type to offend people. He was the baby, always trying to please," Sal Granger spat out.

Perhaps their different manners accounted for the contrast in their styles and living quarters. Rex Granger had lived in a luxury condo and owned a Corvette while his brother's older home in a less desirable neighborhood was cramped and crowded with worn furniture. A rusty pickup truck stood in the driveway. Rex's hair had been closely cropped and his closet filled with smartly tailored suits, while Sal sported longer unkempt salt and pepper curls and favored more casual jeans and plaid shirts.

Sal grumbled, "You know I was an engineer too, a damn good one. Just as good, if not better than Rex. But there's more to life than just work."

The men patiently waited, sensing Sal might reveal more interesting tidbits if provided the opportunity.

"Rex, he's so much younger than me. Or I should say was. He was spoiled rotten by our parents. He always thinks people are looking out for him, like they did. He thought that his company actually cared about him. It's just not true."

"Was that your experience?" Grissom asked.

"You've read the stories in the paper. Older workers are too expensive to keep on. So they buy us out with early retirement plans. They don't care about our expertise or what we could potentially develop. It all boils down to the bottom line – money."

"And then the pension plan goes bust," Grissom stated.

Nick's eyebrow rose. Grissom knew even more than he'd acknowledged in the car. Yet why should he be surprised by that? Nick was intrigued to see what else would be uncovered.

Grissom's leading comment also caught Sal's attention, whose irritation blossomed into hostility. "You seem to know more about me than you're letting on."

Grissom pressed on, "Did Rex help you out with your daughter, since you've lost your health benefits?"

"How is that any of your damn business?" Sal objected.

"Sir, it's simply part of the investigation. It's better to get it out of the way now than later at the station," Brass calmly emphasized while Nick intently studied the man.

"Mr. Granger, your daughter has acute lymphoid leukemia. You've used every last dollar to finance her treatments. You could stand to substantially benefit from the liquidation of your brother's assets," Grissom claimed.

Sal's brown eyes became narrow slits. "So that's it. Don't feel like doing your job so you try to pin it on whoever is most convenient. Just like you did to Walter's daughter."

Nick paused mid-breath.

"As I've explained, this is a normal part of our investigation. Please sir, let's focus on getting information about your brother so we can locate his killer," Brass interjected.

Grissom asked again, "Has your brother helped with your daughter's care?"

Clearly Sal had no desire to answer that question.

Brass continued to play good cop, "Look buddy, think about your daughter. I'm guessing it's just you and her. You'll be able to help her out more here than if you're detained at the station for several hours. Save yourself the hassle."

Sal understood Brass' reasoning. Reluctantly he admitted, "Yeah, sometimes. I didn't want to ask. What kind of a man has to ask his little brother for money? But with my daughter falling apart right in front of my eyes, what choice did I have?"

Satisfied with his answer, Brass steered the questioning in another direction. "Any other recent developments in your brother's life? New girlfriend? Hobby? Promotion?"

Sal shrugged, "We didn't talk much. Like I said, we weren't close. Rex was ten years younger than me. Last time I saw him, maybe two, three weeks ago he was excited about some procedure he was developing at work. It sounded like it had a lot of potential. I tried to talk him into going solo with it, selling it to make a killing. These days you gotta look out for yourself, you know. But as usual he didn't listen and that company will make all that money. Would Rex ever have seen a penny of it? Hell no."

Nick continued to examine Sal Granger, clearly a man with an enormous chip on his shoulder whose circumstances had aged him beyond his natural years. Though, at this point, he didn't appear to be directly involved with his brother's murder. Sal's comment about Kelly Gordon showed that he shared Walter's anger about her incarceration. But could they broach that line of questioning?

With a start, Nick suddenly realized that Sal Granger was scrutinizing him.

The older man's sullen features showed amusement. With his gaze fixed solidly on Nick, he commented, "So you're the one."

Nick made a conscious effort to breathe normally. This guy knew. "How did you know that?" he accused.

"C'mon how could I not? Your picture was plastered all over the news and local papers. How could anyone not know that?" Knowing he had Nick's undivided attention, he couldn't resist saying, "Tell me, how did it feel to be a victim? Stuck in a terrible fate where nobody gives a damn. To have the powers that be mess with what little remains of your life? Can you blame Walter? To see his little girl framed and then destroyed by prison life? How can you blame him? "

Before Nick could respond, Grissom growled, "No one has the right to treat another human being as Walter Gordon treated Nick."

"It stinks being powerless, doesn't it?" Shifting his attention to Grissom now, Sal continued, "Kelly was all Walter had left. That company didn't look out for either of us after we poured the best years of our lives into it. It stinks, doesn't it, watching some one die before your eyes, not being able to do a damn thing. Just like Ronnie..." His voice became strained as he bitterly mumbled. "I tell you, you can't count on anyone, not even your friends."

Nick bolted, mumbling a feeble excuse about getting a glass of water from the kitchen. He had to leave that room or he was going to say something he might regret. Regardless of Walter or Sal's circumstances, what they'd done to him was wrong. No one could condone their behavior.

The sink was piled high with dirty dishes. He searched the cabinets for a clean glass then filled it with some water from the sink.

Sal had to have been Walter's accomplice. Nick felt it in his bones. The way Sal had just spoken to him, he knew it. The two men had been friendly for years; due to their forced early retirements they'd both had the time and the expertise to develop the technology utilized in the kidnapping. And Sal sure could have used a million dollars.

But what proof did they have? Grissom had already been digging around for several months. If the evidence trail had been viable, he would've pursued it.

A crash in the back bedroom caught Nick's attention. He stepped closer to investigate. A rail thin young woman clad in sweat pants and an oversized T-shirt, had tripped and was leaning against the bed, trying to regain her balance.

"Let me help you," Nick rushed over to assist. Putting his arm gently around her, he asked, "Where do you need to go?"

"The bathroom," she croaked as if speaking took too much energy.

Gingerly, Nick accompanied her as she shuffled over to the bathroom. "You gonna be ok? Need me to get your dad?"

"I'm fine. Thanks," she smiled weakly as she closed the door.

When he returned to the living room, Brass was finishing up the questioning and Grissom must've stepped outside. Nick wondered if Grissom was as frustrated as he was that they had nothing solid to use against Sal. It gave Nick little satisfaction to observe that this man's life was already being destroyed. But then again, Grissom must be relieved that Sal hadn't orchestrated this crime scene to continue the senseless vendetta, to torture yet another innocent investigator. Clearly the man had been immersed in his daughter's care.

Nick stood by Brass's chair as the conversation between three men paused for an awkward interval. Sensing Sal was eager for them to depart, Nick and Jim decided to meet Grissom outside instead of waiting for his return.

When they stepped out into the glaring morning sun, Nick thought he saw Grissom hunched over, sitting on a planter midway down the walk. Caught off guard, the set of his shoulders made him appear lost; almost defeated. Or perhaps it was the sudden change in lighting that was playing tricks with Nick's eyes.

By the time they reached Grissom, he rose to greet them. His face seemed pale.

Brass mentioned, "Although Sal's got a strong motive, most likely he's not our guy for this crime."

Grissom's grim expression led Brass to ask, "What is it?"

"Blood and hair evidence suggest that Sara was abducted from the crime scene. Can we use the GPS signal from her phone to locate her?"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

Lost

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** This story will be updated weekly. Glad to hear you're enjoying it! Thanks as always to PhDelicious for the beta work. And thanks for voting for "A Midnight Clear" as best CSI (other character) character study.

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Season 6 (up to but **NOT** including "Daddy's Little Girl" 6.12)

**Chapter 4** Brass

**Tuesday 9:15am Route 95 Las Vegas city limits **

Brass pulled off the shoulder of the four lane highway to park behind Nick and Grissom's vehicle. It hadn't taken the lab long to get a fix on the GPS chip in Sara's cell phone. Unfortunately this location wasn't anywhere near Rex Grainger's upscale neighborhood.

Despite his resolve to remain optimistic, the term 'body dump' automatically registered in his brain. He couldn't help himself; he'd seen too many of them. The remoteness of the location, a route on the outskirts of town, strongly suggested that the perp was tossing evidence on his way out of Vegas.

Apparently he wasn't the only one jumping to that conclusion, Grissom and Nick immediately raced towards the drainage ditch which ran parallel to the road. It would be an ideal spot to conceal a body. Brass deliberately hung by the shoulder, trying to maintain a positive attitude while searching through nearby roadside debris for a cell phone rather than a body.

The reality of the situation hadn't completely hit him. His mind stubbornly clung to the fact that the blood and hair samples hadn't yet been confirmed as Sara's. Still, another portion of him was painfully aware that her cell phone being in this vicinity was not a good sign.

Nick began to search south along the ditch while Grissom paced in the other direction. Brass continued to scan the ground, amazed by the amount of trash that had accumulated along the road – assorted fast food wrappers, dented soda and beer cans, a hubcap, and even a ragged oily T-shirt. He shook his head in disgust.

Then he saw it glinting in the sun. A cell phone.

"Grissom! I've got something," he called. The two men raced over. Pausing only to snap on some latex gloves, Grissom snatched the cell phone after Nick had photographed it.

"It's department issue," Grissom mumbled as he opened it to check the directory. "I think it's hers."

Noting his friend's concerned expression, Brass suggested, "It could've been tossed out of a car window, it wasn't that far from the road."

Grissom was only half paying attention; after studying the phone he busily scanned the surroundings. Then he bent over to examine the roadside rubbish more closely.

Nick scrutinized the terrain as well. "There aren't any fresh tread marks or drag indentations in the immediate vicinity."

"True but even in a few hours the wind could have erased such evidence. There's also been so little rain, the ground is harder to imprint," Grissom grimly reminded them.

Nick had seen enough to make up his mind. "This wouldn't be the best place to dump a body. Other than the drainage ditch there's too little cover. Anybody driving by could see what you were doing."

"In the dead of night there wouldn't be many vehicles. And all people would see would be a vehicle parked at the side of the road. The perp could've dragged or carried the body across to that wooded area," Grissom countered.

Nick disagreed, "That's a long haul for a guy in a hurry. And why leave the phone here if you're going through all the trouble of hauling the body up that hill."

Grissom replied, "You said it yourself Nick, he was in a hurry. He probably didn't notice that it fell."

"There's also no blood evidence here," Nick pointed out. "I don't think she's here Grissom."

All three men were acutely aware that time was a critical factor. Sara had been missing since 1am – almost eight hours had already passed. The first twenty four hours in a missing person's investigation were crucial. Every second counted. They had to track down the evidence while it was fresh in the hopes that it would lead them to Sara.

Brass had to ask, "Was there…much blood at the scene?" He didn't need to clarify that he was asking about Sara's blood.

"No, Catherine only found droplets, which could be an indication that Sara was only knocked unconscious or restrained," Grissom explained.

Brass didn't need to remind him that despite the lack of blood, Sara could've been instantly killed by a severe blow or suffering from serious internal hemorrhaging. While a layman might have been lulled into a false sense of security by the lack of blood, they were far too well acquainted with the realistic possibilities. When the case involved one of their own, it just made it harder. Harder to remain optimistic, knowing that each minute that ticked by could potentially be fatal for Sara. To keep themselves going, for their own peace of mind, they had to assume the best case scenario until proven otherwise.

Removing his glasses and pinching the brim of his nose, Grissom sighed, taking longer than customary to select a decisive course of action. "I'm not fully convinced that she's out here. But I can't rule out that possibility either. Brass, get some uniforms and day shift out here to help. Double check this debris and use the canine unit -- just in case. Get the master key from Ecklie to open her locker so you can find a clothing sample for the dogs.

"We need more information. We have to piece together what actually happened at that crime scene after Warrick stepped out; otherwise we're just stumbling around blindly in the dark wasting time.

"Nick, take Sara's phone back to the lab and try to lift some prints. Keep working the Rex Grainger case with Greg – his death and Sara's disappearance most likely are connected. You can drop me off at the primary crime scene so I can help Warrick and Catherine."

XXXXXXXX

**2:45 pm Rex Granger's Condo**

Brass casually nodded a greeting towards the patrol men who were guarding the scene. He discretely slipped past the yellow crime scene tape through the entrance of Rex Granger's condo.

"Hello?" he called. The sound echoed through the spacious rooms.

Since a second crime had presumably occurred there, the scene was being re-processed for additional evidence. Brass had just returned from accompanying Nick to Rex's place of employment. Their interviews had yielded nothing obvious, there were no apparent beefs. Although Rex was withdrawn by nature, he had been a model, productive employee. His calendar showed mostly in house meetings, a dentist appointment and some upcoming personal days. They'd confiscated Rex's work computer and files for further investigation.

His co-workers mentioned that Rex typically carried a laptop about with him and as of yet it was unaccounted for so Brass had made a mental note to look for it at the scene. As he scanned the living room, while carefully avoiding the blood splatter, he noticed the desktop computer with the vibrantly colored shapes frenetically flashing on the screen. He quickly looked away, the brightness hurting his eyes. Yet there was no laptop or even a briefcase in the vicinity. He'd need to check out Rex's car on his way out.

Brass was confused by the deserted rooms. Had the team had finally taken a well needed break? It would make sense since the entire graveyard crew was practically into their third shift by now. He was feeling ragged himself. Yet, no one had been complaining. It was official; the blood and hair samples were positive matches for Sara's. Her case was the primary focus for all shifts. She had been missing for over twelve hours.

He tried again, a little louder, "Hello?"

This time a faint reply came from upstairs. Brass climbed the stairs to discover Warrick stepping out of the closet.

"Hey," Warrick muttered wearily as he stretched his limbs.

"Where's the rest of the team? Taking a break?"

"Oh no, this is just the tip of the iceberg," Warrick explained with a yawn.

"What have you found?"

"We believe the perp originally hid in the closet, lying in wait for Rex Grainger. Judging from the angle of the wound, it's possible that the shot came from the top of the stairs."

"How does Sara fit into all this?"

"Catherine first found blood and hair samples in the closet. I've located some other drops by the foot of the bed and some lit up on the bedspread when I sprayed it with luminal, suggesting that Sara may have been bending down on the floor. The hair itself was bloody. My guess, after she finished processing this level, she brought her kit downstairs. Before starting to work downstairs, she decided to test the bedspread for GSR. I found swabs which could've been used for the assay shoved beneath the bed. I also found these." He handed Brass a specimen envelope.

Brass opened it, extracting a few brown beads of various sizes. He looked towards Warrick, uncertain as to the significance of this finding.

"Grissom insists that they're hers. I don't really know. Tina always tells me that I don't pay attention to stuff like that," Warrick continued, his tone becoming slightly bitter.

Brass was all too well acquainted with that feeling. No matter what he'd done with his former wife, it had been wrong. Then again, he hadn't exactly been a model husband. He scratched his head wondering how Grissom could be so certain about such a minute detail. Still, that man had a nearly photographic memory that retained everything, tons of unrelated facts and trivia, so why should this surprise him.

"Catherine found a few more beads on the floor in the closet. We're thinking that the perp surprised Sara, coming up from behind."

"Wait a minute buddy, I'm sure my guys cleared that closet," Brass was starting to get defensive. Stuff like that didn't happen while he was in charge. He had no tolerance for incompetence on his watch.

Warrick was quick to reassure him, "I'm sure they did when they first arrived to clear the scene."

"Then how…"

"Best we can figure is that he forgot something and returned to the scene," Warrick explained.

Brass wasn't buying it. "That's not possible, the entrance was guarded. There were police and neighbors all over the place. Places like this have their own security as well."

With a wry grin, Warrick gestured towards the closet, "Check this out."

Brass cautiously followed Warrick through the neatly organized tunnel-like closet. He was astounded to discover that the back wall at the end had been removed.

"How did our guys miss that?" This was going to be embarrassing for the department.

"They didn't. It was intact when they did their search. Catherine found pieces of dry wall this morning and put two and two together."

The two men stepped through the narrow opening into an entirely different condominium. In some respects it mirrored the one they'd just left, both having similar floor plans with the second floor essentially a loft, completely open to the first floor living area separated only by a railing. After that the resemblance ended. This unit was undergoing major renovations; many of the walls were stripped down to the studs. Pieces of dark mahogany flooring lay on the plywood subflooring in the bedroom. A rose colored marble countertop rested against the ground in the presumed master bath area along with a huge box which housed a heart shaped whirlpool tub. Nails, rolls of duct tape, miscellaneous tools and dry wall dust covered the floor, along with loose bundles of electrical cables. Boxes of building supplies were scattered about. It was a mess.

Brass whistled, "No wonder the neighbor didn't object." Their crime scene had effectively doubled in size. "Where's Grissom?"

"Last I checked still in the dumpster."

"The dumpster?" Brass wondered if he was hearing properly. That wasn't like Grissom. He had no compulsions whatsoever about using his seniority to get out of such gritty details.

"Yeah, you know -- the industrial kind. There's a chute out of the other side by the bath area, near the fire escape."

The men carefully made their way through the clutter.

"Any evidence of Sara?" Brass asked.

Warrick answered, "A few more of those brown beads on this floor along with two more long dark hairs."

"What's the story with this guy? I hate to say it but he went to great lengths to kill Rex Grainger and he had no reservations at all about leaving a bloody mess." He paused, half afraid to put his concerns into words. Lowering his voice, he asked, "Why didn't he just shoot Sara and leave her there too?"

"It is odd. Like you said, getting access to this condo and breaking through the closet took planning. The guy did his homework. He's patient enough to have figured out all the details. Most likely he's smart, not your average thug. I'm guessing he was strongly motivated to get Mr. Grainger out of the picture. With Sara, it's not the same scenario. She caught him off guard, he wasn't expecting her and he didn't know her. Maybe he didn't have his gun handy when he returned? Her vest would've tipped him off that she was there in an official capacity. We're hoping that he didn't want to make more trouble for himself so he took her to keep her quiet while he ran out of town."

A door slamming on the lower floor of the unit captured their attention.

Brass and Warrick traveled down an elaborate wrought iron spiral staircase to meet Grissom and Catherine on the equally disheveled first floor. Grissom's coveralls were covered with chalky debris. His eyes were bleary and his cheeks streaked with dirt.

"Anything probative?" Warrick cautiously asked.

"The dumpster's a dead end. I searched it thoroughly. I don't understand, that would've been a much easier way for him to remove her than to carry her down that narrow spiral staircase or down the fire escape."

"With that mess, he still could've used one of those routes," Catherine carefully reminded him.

"Are we making a wrong assumption here? Maybe she could walk. Maybe he simply tied her wrists and held his gun on her?" Brass suggested.

Grissom paused, briefly considering the possibility. He seemed to want to believe it. It suggested a slightly safer scenario for Sara. An alert and uninjured Sara would be capable of eventually eluding her capture. Then he shook his head. "I don't think so. The blood near the roots of the hair suggests a head wound, along with the fact that those samples were all found on the ground. It's consistent with her being dragged along the floor."

"What about this stuff?" Warrick indicated a large pile of empty fast food containers, junk food wrappers, along with an assortment of empty cans and bottles.

Catherine replied, "What about it? It could be from yesterday, it could be from last year for all we know. Construction workers are pigs. You ought to see what I found in the back of my cabinets after I remodeled my kitchen last year. It was revolting."

"We're still taking it all back to the lab," Grissom sternly mentioned, not wanting to leave any stone unturned. "It's possible that our perp could've come here earlier, at a busier time or when the security personnel changed shifts so he could elude being detected by the video surveillance. Catherine, did you get any more information from the manager about the owner of this unit?"

"Lucas Adair. He's in and out of the country a lot. This isn't his primary residence. The building manager said this renovation project has been on and off for months now. He implied it depended upon if the husband was fighting with his wife. Apparently they've had some rather public disagreements in the lobby about the project," Catherine smirked.

"We need to know if they were working on this site yesterday."

As they continued collecting the trash, Catherine hesitated. "Gil…I know the clock is ticking, we all do. But…" Apologetically, she added, "I need to check on Lindsey."

"Yes, of course," Grissom mumbled, fully aware that they were putting in marathon hours. Yet he was more interested in examining the wadded up food wrappers.

"I'll bring the rest of our samples to the lab so the analysis can get started. I just need to talk to her then rest for an hour or two. You know I want to find Sara as badly as you do," Catherine explained, anxious not to offend.

Grissom nodded, only half-listening. He picked up a crumbled wrapper and sniffed it. Brass couldn't hide his revulsion.

"This is Nacho Taco – it smells fresh," Grissom stated. "Isn't there one of these around the corner?"

Warrick wondered if his supervisor was reaching at straws. "I don't know about that Grissom, the grease tends to soak in and stay there for a while." He tried suggesting, "Maybe we all need to take a break, come back with fresh eyes."

Grissom ignored him, continuing to poke through the trash.

Catherine and Warrick exchanged concerned glances.

Grissom reached for a bottle with a faint grin. "Put a high priority on this one."

The others were confused; concerned that Grissom was starting to act irrationally due to stress and fatigue.

"Why?" Catherine bluntly demanded.

"Look at it," Grissom felt as if he didn't need to explain himself.

"It's an Arizona ice tea bottle," Warrick stated, his patience starting to wear thin. "There are several others on the floor."

"Don't you notice anything else about it?"

Catherine was becoming impatient, "It's a temporary specialty flavor, extra sweet Green Tea with mint – Greg is addicted to it. He bought a case of it."

"Look at the bottle," Grissom suggested.

Then it hit Brass. "It's bright pink with flowers. Maybe Sanders can get away with stuff like that, but no construction worker would parade something like that around a job site." Perhaps there was something to Grissom's bizarre theory.

Catherine bagged and labeled the bottle. Warrick and Grissom assisted with the rest.

When they'd finished, Grissom advised, "Warrick, when we're through here you should take a few hours to rest too. As you said fresh eyes see more clearly."

Warrick was grateful. "Thanks Grissom. I'm gonna be even more in the dog house if I don't talk with my wife soon. But like Cath says, we'll be right back. Page us if there are any breaks. Any breaks at all."

"We can bring those samples to the lab Catherine. Brass, can I catch a ride back with you?" Grissom asked, rubbing his temples.

"Sure, I can drop you by your place. I just want to check the vic's car on the way out. Look for his laptop. Apparently he was pretty attached to it. These engineers and their computers, I tell you. How many does one guy need? He had one at work, one at home plus a laptop. I just don't get it. That screen saver on the one in his home would drive me nuts."

"Huh?" Grissom was confused.

"Tell me about it, "Warrick half smiled. "It's like it's demonically possessed, flashing those weird shapes and colors so fast. I felt like it was watching me while I was processing evidence. I tried not to look at it."

They all were punchy with so little sleep. "Yeah," Catherine joked, "it's like a flash back from a bad LSD trip." She stared to laugh, even though what she'd said wasn't especially funny. Immediately she stifled it, not wanting Grissom to misconstrue her intentions under such dire circumstances. She just needed to release some of her rising tension.

Grissom looked up, his eyes focusing intently for the first time since they'd entered the room. "I know what the perp came back for. Let's secure that computer and bring it back to the lab."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

Lost

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** This chapter is rather intense and a bit longer than usual. It was challenging to write. Thanks to PhDelicious, Kelli, Ms.Grits, Sybelle, Stichik who helped it all come together. This story will be updated weekly.

**Summary:** When Sara disappears from a crime scene, the CSI team scrambles to locate her. During the course of their investigation, they are also puzzled by Grissom's behavior

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Season 6 (up to but **NOT** including "Daddy's Little Girl" 6.12)

**Chapter 5** Brass

**Tuesday 4:05 pm Brass's house**

After a futile attempt to convince Grissom to go home to rest or at least change his clothing, Brass dropped him off at the lab and then drove to his own place. Although he was as anxious as the rest of the team to find Sara, especially since the clock was ticking loudly, Brass was fully aware that he'd reached his physical limits. He'd be useless if he didn't rest. He was also conscious that Grissom was worn down too, yet the man was being painfully stubborn.

Of course Brass had one hell of a theory as to why his otherwise flawlessly logical and professional friend was resisting common sense. But he wasn't going to play that card unless he absolutely had to. He vowed to personally drag Grissom out of the lab if there weren't any breaks in the case within the next few hours.

He'd taken a shower, changed into fresh clothes, and prepared a ham and cheese sandwich. Trying to unwind, to distract his mind from the case, he sank into his recliner and turned on the TV to aimlessly flip through the channels. Finally he settled on a baseball game. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he took a few bites of his sandwich and ended up quickly finishing it off.

Although he was exhausted, it was difficult to relax and reduce the gnawing tension in the back of his shoulders and neck. A seasoned veteran, he knew just closing his eyes for a short period would be beneficial for alleviating some of the thudding in his temples. He had no idea how a long a stretch they might be gearing up for. The case could break within the hour. Or days could pass. Brass shuddered, not wanting to consider that possibility. Even if Sara hadn't been badly injured by the initial blow, days without food or water, or possible exposure to extreme temperatures in the desert could be brutal.

Where was she?

Day shift was still hard at work, expanding their search of the interstate area where they'd originally located Sara's cell phone. The canine unit had been unsuccessful; the dogs couldn't pick up Sara's scent. The day shift supervisor was convinced that it was a dead end, yet he continued to have the searchers fan out since Grissom sternly insisted upon it. There were no other leads.

The dogs were brought to the primary crime scene as well where they managed to detect Sara's scent in Rex Granger's condo and then they followed it through the closet into the neighboring unit. However, upon reaching the construction debris on the second floor, they soon lost the trail.

Grissom, Catherine and Warrick had turned both condos upside searching for loose floorboards, large grates or vents; anywhere that a body might be concealed. Every box of building supplies, even those still sealed and clearly labeled had been thoroughly searched with no results. The adjoining dumpster had been scoured from top to bottom.

Based on these findings, their working hypothesis was that the perp had taken Sara with him upon exiting the building, though his reasons for doing so weren't clear. Did he mean to eventually use her as a bargaining chip or was he merely trying to get rid of her discretely?

Brass's mind continued to race. Why had the perp tossed her phone? That site would've been such an easy place to dump all of the evidence. Though, he reminded himself, when dealing with criminals, logic doesn't always apply. On the other hand, perhaps the perp was smart enough to know about GPS technology and had wanted to throw them off track. Simply figuring out how to enter Rex Granger's building undetected and then sneaking through the adjourning unit had taken planning.

What had this guy done with Sara?

While Brass wasn't sure about some things, he had more definite ideas about others. Earlier that afternoon Nick had confirmed that Sal Granger was Rex's sole beneficiary. The surly man was due to inherit a sizable fortune from his younger brother. That was a solid motive in his book which made Sal his prime suspect.

Although Brass outright didn't like Sal Granger, during their interview earlier that day he felt that the man hadn't committed the crime, given his credible alibi and his lack of time to carry out such an involved scheme. Despite his irritable nature, the man seemed genuinely devoted to the care of his daughter. But the more the detective thought about it, knowing the size of his brother's estate Sal could've easily cut a deal with someone, promising them part of the money as payment for the murder. The fact that there was even a remote possibility that Sal Granger had been involved with Walter Gordon in that horrible business last year suggested that he wouldn't be above resorting to those sorts of methods again. Perhaps Sal's hands were clean only because he hadn't pulled the actual trigger.

Brass's thoughts became more jumbled as he drifted off to sleep.

XXXXXX

**Tuesday 7:25 pm Roy's Bar and Grill**

The ringing phone had jarred Brass out of a solid doze in his recliner. Although he hadn't slept long, the call managed to re-energize him. They had a lead. From the lobby video surveillance footage, Greg and Archie had identified two construction workers entering Rex Granger's building early on Monday morning. One of the workers had signed in at the security desk.

This could be the break they'd been looking for. The adrenaline surging through his system allowed him to swiftly cruise over to the apartment building Greg had specified. Upon Brass's arrival, a bleary eyed Greg rushed over to the car to inform him that their suspect wasn't at home. The younger man was over eager and had started the process without Brass. However, although he had no luck at their suspect's apartment, Greg had met a cute, talkative blonde neighbor in the hallway who had kindly tipped him off as to where the suspect typically hung out.

Brass wasn't surprised or offended by Greg's impetuousness. Given the current circumstances, every minute counted. He was certain that the young CSI hadn't taken a break in a long time, given the manner in which Greg was rubbing his eyes. And normally the good natured young man would've dazzled Brass with an unnecessarily graphic description of the hot young woman he'd just spoken with. Now Greg acted as if he'd only seized a valuable opportunity to get information, mentioning that the girl was hot merely as an afterthought.

He and Greg had parked their vehicles outside of Roy's Bar and Grill. A quick scan of the establishment and its decided lack of decor indicated it was the type of place favored by local blue collar types, including construction workers and cops. In all probability it wouldn't have much atmosphere inside either. Most likely it featured cheap beer and somewhat edible though greasy food offerings, along with several TVs blaring sports --- staples for these joints.

As they entered, Brass glanced at the photo that Greg had just handed him of their suspect. It had been obtained from the lobby surveillance footage. Pete Barnes was a tall muscular man, possibly in his late 20s, early 30s. He was deeply tanned with broad shoulders. His dark hair was short, cut close to his head.

"Bingo," Greg muttered under his breath. He'd immediately caught sight of their man upon scanning the room. Since it was early and a weeknight; the main room wasn't crowded. Just as the shapely neighbor had described, their suspect was perched at his habitual spot at the far corner of the bar with his eyes glued to the game on an adjacent television. Judging from the number of empty beer bottles surrounding him, he'd been there for a while.

The men approached the suspect. Brass got things started, "Hey buddy, we've got some questions for you. It'll take just a moment of your time." He and Greg flashed their badges.

"What do you want?" Pete stirred uncomfortably, not pleased with being disturbed by the police.

Greg pulled up a bar stool and made himself comfortable, sitting down by their suspect. It was going to be his show since Brass wasn't completely up to date on all of the details.

The young CSI started with the preliminaries. "You work for M&M construction?"

"Yeah. Been there about five years now."

"Can you tell us about the Adair remodel?"

Pete shrugged, "Not much to say. Some weeks the project is on, others it's off. At the rate it's going, it'll take more than a year to complete. As long as I get paid, it don't matter to me." His eyes wandered back to sneak a peak at the television screen.

"When was the last time you worked that site?" Greg inquired, following protocol.

The construction worker paused to think, "Maybe last week. We were doing some work installing the kitchen cabinets. They've got some gorgeous mahogany ones. Must be nice to have that kind of dough."

"So you weren't there recently?" Greg asked.

Brass partially grinned, all too familiar with this game. Test the suspect out; see if he will give a straight story that confirms established facts. For the ones with something to hide, if you gave them enough rope they would hang themselves with it.

"No, I said I wasn't," Pete repeated more firmly.

_This guy clearly has something to hide_, Brass thought to himself.

"What job did you work yesterday?" Greg insisted, trying to remain cool and professional.

Pete thought for a moment, "Remodel out in Summerlin. Spent most of the day gutting a bathroom."

Greg nodded as he referred to his notes. "Your employer confirms this." Looking up towards the suspect, he then asked more intently, "I'd like to know what you were doing at the Adair remodel around 6 am yesterday morning."

Pete's features froze momentarily. They finally had his undivided attention. Then he tried to deny it. "Wait a minute, who said anything about…"

Greg nodded to Brass who discretely pushed the surveillance photo towards Pete.

Then the detective stepped in, "We've got a serious situation here. One man murdered and a missing CSI. Cooperate and it might go easier for you."

"Oh yeah, that's right. I was just checking to see if I'd left one of my tools there. Yeah, I'd forgotten about that," Pete was getting flustered, trying to fake his way out of the mess he'd created.

"Who's your friend?" Greg pointed to the other man in the photo who was a wearing a construction hard hat. Unfortunately, the camera hadn't been able to get a close view of the man's face. He was shorter than Pete, with a slight build. He wore fairly new blue jeans with a yellow polo shirt.

"No more funny stuff," Brass sternly warned.

"I don't know," he stammered.

Greg was getting irritated, "What do you mean, you don't know? The surveillance tape shows you escorting him into that building. About twenty minutes later, we clearly see you leaving but he remained behind. We've already caught you bringing unauthorized personnel onto a secure job site. You're already in trouble with your employer and your union. Tell us the truth or it's only gonna get worse."

Pete was getting scared. "Look, I don't know who the guy was. One night…last week maybe, I was here watching the Royals game. This guy comes up to me and starts talkin' about baseball. Then after a few beers, somehow he was asking me about what I did and the projects I've worked on. He acted like it was some big coincidence that his friend lived in the same building as the Adair job. He claimed he wanted to pull a practical joke on his buddy. That's all. I swear."

"Why would you do such a thing? He could've robbed the site blind and you would've been liable for the damage," Brass pointed out.

Pete's expression revealed he wasn't the brightest, that the possibility hadn't occurred to him. "I dunno, he didn't seem to need to the money. He seemed smart, you know. Dressed like he worked for some high-powered corporation."

"And you did this out of the goodness of your heart?" Brass grinned, knowing the answer.

"Well…" Pete confessed.

"How much did he pay you?"

"Five hundred – cash."

"I can see how that would be very persuasive," Brass nodded.

"We need to know who this guy is. Did he give you his name?" Greg's voice became more intense.

Pete shook his head, "Nah, he offered the money and wanted to do it fast. So we came up with a date when there wasn't any work scheduled at the site and met that morning outside the building."

_So much for a paper trail_, Brass thought regretfully.

Greg rose abruptly. "Let's go. You're coming down to the station to talk with the police sketch artist."

XXXXXXXXXX

**Wednesday 1:45 am LVPD Interrogation room**

Grissom and Brass paused outside of the interrogation room to peer through the one way mirror studying their suspect. Andrew Wallace, a sharply dressed, confident young man, paced the room, more incensed than concerned about the fact that he'd been detained and brought to the station. Airport security recognized him from the composite sketch which had been widely circulated. Mr. Wallace was about to board a plane bound for Boston.

Both Pete Barnes and a waitress from Roy's Bar and Grill had positively identified Andrew Wallace from a lineup. This was the man that Pete had met at the bar and later escorted into the secure construction site. Yet their suspect remained uncooperative. He emphatically denied everything although he had no verifiable alibi for his whereabouts that Monday.

At least the eye witness identification was sufficient grounds for probable cause, allowing them to detain Mr. Wallace for twenty four hours, and permitting them access to his vehicle and dwelling. Grissom and Brass, along with several other officers had rushed to McCarran's long term parking lot C to search for his silver Lexus. Brass managed to convince the young man that voluntarily surrendering his parking ticket would bode much better for him in the long run. They immediately popped the trunk but Sara wasn't in there. Brass wasn't sure if he was relieved or not, given the intense heat of that day. The vehicle was brought back to the station.

"Anything new from Warrick and Catherine?" Brass asked. They were searching the suspect's apartment.

Grissom grimly shook his head. "Nothing probative."

"Too bad we can't connect him to that gun."

Late that afternoon, the Day shift search party had discovered a twenty two caliber pistol near the side of Rt. 95, several miles down the road from the spot where Sara's phone had been located. Ballistics confirmed it was the weapon used to kill Rex Granger. Unfortunately there were no fingerprints of any kind. The gun belonged to a Ronald Shipley, an older man who had reported it stolen two weeks ago.

"You want to wait on those DNA results?" Brass asked.

Grissom heaved a tense sigh. "No, we're running out of time. Let's let Mr. Wallace know that we're on to him. He's not as innocent as he claims to be."

Andrew Wallace once again embarked on his familiar tirade as the men entered the room.

"When do I get to leave? I told you I don't know this Rex guy and I certainly don't know anything about any missing CSI. I have a very important meeting to attend this afternoon and I might still be able to catch another flight if you let me go now. You checked my car. I swear if those airline people lost my luggage, I'm holding you guys personally responsible."

Brass grinned wryly, "I don't think you're in any position to bargain, Mr. Wallace."

"I know my rights. You can't keep me here against my will," Andrew Wallace complained in an authoritative tone.

"Our legal system says differently," Grissom pulled up a chair to sit down as did Brass. "Let's try this again, how do you know Rex Granger?"

He refused to sit. "Look, I don't know this guy."

Grissom differed, "Yes you do." Referring to some sheets in a folder, he read, "You're both employed at General Dynamics."

He wasn't fazed. "So what? It's a big place. I work there. I don't socialize with those people."

"A secretary confirms that the two of you have worked on projects together," Grissom pointed out.

"I talk to tons of people at work about work. Unless he's going to get me somewhere or has something useful for me, I have no reason to remember his name."

"Fair enough," Brass conceded, disgusted by the young man's self-serving attitude.

"Why does your office think you're taking some personal days rather than attending such an important business meeting?" Grissom asked.

Wallace finally sat down and attempted to explain. "C'mon, you know what it's like. You do a little on the side, make a little extra money. Everybody does it. I'm certainly not going to announce that to my employer." He examined his watch impatiently while drumming his fingers on the table. "This is a very important opportunity for me. I've told you all I know. Can I go?"

"Hold your horses, buddy. We'll let you go when we're ready," Brass assured him.

Greg rushed into the room with some lab results to show Grissom. Upon examining them Grissom smiled, "Your DNA says you were at the condo complex."

Andrew was outraged, "Based on what?"

"Your Arizona Ice Tea bottle found at the construction site."

"Cut me a break, a construction site? Anybody could've planted it there. My lawyer will rip that to shreds."

Grissom wasn't concerned, "Really? Because video surveillance shows you holding that same bottle in the lobby."

"I want my lawyer," Andrew Wallace demanded.

XXXXXXXXXX

**Wednesday 3:22 am LVPD Interrogation room**

"This is ludicrous. What you're holding my client on will not stand up in court. You need to release him now," Andrew Wallace's lawyer emphatically stated.

"New evidence begs to differ," Grissom explained as he sat opposite the suspect.

Brass reminded them of the facts. "We have you at the scene – DNA doesn't lie. We also found Rex Granger's laptop at your home. Based on these findings plus several others we've come up with a scenario to explain what may have happened last night. Wanna hear?"

"If you must," the lawyer answered.

Brass enjoyed this part of the game. Typically it was a humbling experience for suspects to learn just how many details of their crime that the lab had been able to figure out. It usually spooked them. Many of them wised up, fully aware that they'd been caught. Hopefully this wise guy would tell them where Sara was to lessen his charges. Brass's bets were still on some connection between Sal Granger and Andrew Wallace, with Sal paying Wallace to pull the job.

Grissom took over, "Rex Granger had something that you wanted very badly but he wasn't about to give it to you. You tried to reason with him, presumably during an earlier visit to his place. That was when you heard the noise from the construction next door and came up with your scheme to break in through the adjacent unit. So you did your homework, made some phone calls to determine who was working the site and then you arranged for a chance meeting with Pete Barnes where you bribed him to take you to the construction site when there was no work scheduled. The time you selected coincided with when the construction workers normally arrived so you thought you'd blend in."

Wallace showed no apparent reaction.

"You stayed at the site after Pete left, waiting for Rex to come home, having already removed the drywall separating the two units. Rex Granger was a creature of habit. Everybody who worked with him knew that. You fully expected him to arrive at his condo between seven thirty and eight pm since you'd studied his habits. That's when you snuck out of Rex's closet and shot him from the loft. The man probably never even saw you."

"Nice story," Wallace commented sarcastically. "Too bad it's not true."

Grissom continued, "That's when you stole Rex's laptop. Everyone at work knew how possessive Rex was of it, so you figured that would be your only opportunity. But the laptop wasn't enough for you. Otherwise you could've slipped in while Rex was sleeping or in the shower and merely stolen it. There was something on there that was so valuable that Rex had to be out of the picture. So you killed him."

"You left with the laptop, crawling back to the construction site. After restoring the drywall, you had time to kill. You didn't want draw undue attention to yourself. Originally you planned to slip out the same way you got in, blending in as a construction worker. So you decided to peek at the files. To your surprise whatever it was that was so valuable that you had just committed murder for, wasn't on there. You had no choice, you had to go back."

"On what are you basing this?" His lawyer seemed amused.

"Look at these photos." Grissom placed them on the table. "This was taken when we arrived at the crime scene around 11:30 pm. Note the computer in the background. The screen is blank, the monitor light is yellow."

"So?"

"This photo was taken by CSI Brown shortly after CSI Sidle disappeared. We've enlarged the computer screen in the background. See the screen saver? It's so bright it's hard to miss. We also have evidence that several files were copied and then the originals deleted from that unit at 1:17 am."

"C'mon, what files could possibly be worth all that trouble?" Andrew commented.

"We've got time, we'll figure it out," Grissom assured him. "I'm sure the people at your 'important appointment' will be able to assist us with that." He continued to describe the events of that night. "You sat near that closet wall. With the construction going on there was so little insulation you could hear our voices in Rex's apartment. When things became quiet, you figured we had left so it was time to make your move. You took down the drywall as carefully and quietly as you could. Then you snuck through the closet. You must have been stunned to discover a person in the bedroom."

"I don't know anything about any CSI," Wallace growled.

"The hammer we found in the trunk of your car with traces of her hair and blood says differently. Since there were no signs of a struggle in the bedroom and there aren't any defensive wounds on youI'm assuming hit her on the head from behind, knocking her out. Then you pulled her body through the closet. Since you couldn't sneak past the guards, you had to change your plans. You used the dumpster garbage chute or the fire escape to lower her body to the ground floor. Then you brought your car over, popped the trunk and put her inside it. Where is she?" His voice became louder.

Before Andrew Wallace could respond, Grissom interrupted, speaking more sternly. "We don't have time for lies. One of our CSIs is missing or dead and you _were_ involved. Tell us where she is."

"I don't know anything about that," Wallace continued to deny his involvement.

_What kind of an animal was this guy?_ Brass thought. In outward appearance, he resembled the boy next door. Yet he'd been essentially caught committing pre-meditated murder and he showed absolutely no signs of remorse. He didn't care if Sara was dead or alive.

Brass scolded him, "She didn't even see you. You could've left her there and still gotten what you wanted, avoiding more trouble. There's enough evidence here to charge you for the murder of Rex Granger. And do you know what the penalty for assaulting or killing a law enforcement official is?"

Wallace didn't budge.

_Smug bastard_, Brass thought. _He knows she's dead or he's hidden her so well he's confident that we'll never find her._ His blood pressure began to rise.

"You'll be going away for a long time, buddy. Believe me," Brass assured him through gritted teeth.

"If there's a chance she's still alive and you tell us where she is, it might go easier for you," Grissom was getting anxious, almost willing to deal with the devil.

"I had nothing to do with that," Wallace claimed with a haughty expression

_Damn_, Brass thought, his hopes sinking. _This can't be happening._

Grissom leaned across the table towards the suspect and shouted, "We know you hit her with that hammer! Now where is she?"

Brass was frightened by Grissom's harsh tone. Threatening a suspect in front of his lawyer was always a lousy idea. He quickly got Grissom out of the room.

XXXXXXXXX

**Wednesday 4:00 am Grissom's Office **

After closing the door behind him, Brass turned to speak to Grissom but he'd already started down the hall at a fast clip towards his office. Soon he heard the door slam shut after Grissom. Maybe he should give him some time to calm down? The tension was starting to eat away at him, hell, at all of them. They were going to have to figure a way to break this guy down or glean more information from the evidence. They had to find Sara.

However before Brass dealt with Grissom, he noticed something else he had to address. Officer Curtis had been lingering outside the room, watching the interrogation. Now she was slowly making her way towards Grissom's office.

Brass sighed. He knew that look. Why was it when things went to hell, everything seemed to happen all at once? Normally he kept his nose clean, staying out of other people's personal issues. He genuinely liked Officer Curtis; he'd grown fond of her wry sense of humor. As much as he hated to interfere, it would be better for both of them this way. And potentially less embarrassing for Sofia.

He barely caught her as she paused before Grissom's closed office door.

"Don't…" He advised.

She turned towards him, confused, her eyes bright and brimming with sympathy for Grissom.

"It's…not a good idea."

She didn't understand. Damn, how could he say it without hurting her? With Grissom's current state of mind, he'd either throw her out of that office in ten seconds flat or completely ignore her.

He tried again, "Um…Look, I know you mean well honey but…Trust me on this." He took another breath, "It's not you that he wants."

Damn, he hated hurting her like. And he had, it was evident in her wounded stare. But it was better this way.

Sofia slipped away.

Brass sighed deeply again, knowing he had an even more onerous task ahead of him. He gave the door a light rap then carefully opened it. Most of the lights in the office were off, only the dim glow of a lamp on its lowest setting illuminated the area. Grissom's shadowy figure was standing, facing a specimen shelf.

Brass had no other way to say it. "I'm sorry."

_That Sara is most likely dead_. Tears nearly came to his eyes at that dreadful thought. _Or if she is alive, it looks like we're not going to be able to find her in time. I'm sorry that you never took a chance on life and now it's too late._ If he were more of a man he would've said those things.

"That bastard knows where she is," Grissom was nearly choking on his words, struggling with anger and another emotion that was even more powerful.

"I agree. He's not talking 'cause he thinks he's getting away with it." Even if Sara was still alive, this guy wasn't going to budge. The little creep was highly confident that his hiding place was secure.

Grissom crossed the room to sink down into his desk chair, rubbing his temples.

"Go home Gil. You're exhausted. You almost took that guy's head off in front of his lawyer. You're not the only one working this case. You're not the only one who cares. Go home before you make any…mistakes." He'd been about to say 'more'.

Unfortunately Brass recognized regret when he saw it. He'd felt it, palpably in the air when he'd overheard Grissom's poignant confession to a complete stranger almost two years ago. The sorrow in his voice was mirrored by that in Sara's eyes, which he saw as he passed by her, glued to the observation window. Jim wasn't a fool. Grissom had waited too long. It was too late now, and it was killing him.

Would it have been so hard to test the waters? Why hadn't he at least tried, if not with Sara then someone else? He saw the looks women gave his friend. Grissom could've had his pick of women. Yet for some perverse reason he strove to remain an island, alone and untouched, not interacting with another's life intimately. The two of them were friends, good friends yet he'd never even had Grissom over his house for a beer or pizza.

Gently he prodded his friend. He had to get him to take a break. "Go home Gil. We've hit a dead end. Get some sleep so we can see it better. We're gonna figure things out. You would never authorize anyone else to work this long."

It was too dark in the room to discern Grissom's reaction.

Brass had never seen his friend so shaken. Stepping closer, he half-joked, "Hey, do I have to drag you out of here?" But if he had to, he would. Gil Grissom was on the verge of breaking down and that wouldn't be pretty. He certainly wouldn't want an audience.

"Why are you being so stubborn?"

More to himself than to Jim, Grissom weakly answered, "I can't…"

"Why?"

_What was Grissom's problem?_

Jim barely heard him mumble, "She's not there."

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Lost

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** As always, thanks to PhDelicious. Although my house has been invaded my children and grandparents this week, I will continue to attempt to update this story weekly.

**Summary:** When Sara disappears from a crime scene, the CSI team scrambles to locate her. During the course of their investigation, they are also puzzled by Grissom's behavior

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Season 6 (up to but **NOT** including "Daddy's Little Girl" 6.12)

**Chapter 6** Grissom

**Wednesday 4:06 am Grissom's office**

"She's not there."

Although it didn't seem like much, those words were highly significant. He'd finally verbalized his fear of losing Sara. And he'd acknowledged before a colleague that he was in fact, already involved with her. He sat in the dimly lit room, hunched over on the chair, with his elbows resting on his desk, burying his face in his hands while deliberately taking deep breaths, trying to quell the maelstrom of emotions that was threatening to erupt. Despite Jim's good intentions, it would've been utter torture for Grissom to go home.

Not that her clothing or books or even her hair dryer were lying about or that he'd actually encouraged her to alter his place, he'd been absurdly pig-headed about those issues. But her essence was there. Once he stepped in the door, he'd expect to see her: lounging on the couch reading a forensics journal, or combing her hair by the bathroom mirror, or eagerly waiting for him in his bed. He'd smell the remnant of her peach scented crème rinse on the couch, or in the towels, or in the sheets. That lingering feminine aroma would be deadly.

Going home would also be admitting defeat, conceding that Sara was dead and never again coming back. He couldn't live with that. Going home was completely out of the question.

However, Jim's points were valid. He was exhausted and having trouble concentrating. He'd been making mistakes – threatening a suspect with his lawyer present. What had he been thinking? He was losing control of his emotions which was a scary, unfamiliar sensation for him. He needed to regroup, to collect himself. He was the team leader; he had responsibilities. He had to set the tone for the rest of the investigators. More importantly he had to regain control for Sara; otherwise they might never determine where she was.

Typically a man ruled by logic, Grissom was bewildered by the primal urges running through him. He longed to throttle that grinning idiot Andrew Wallace or beat him senseless until he confessed Sara's location. Neither was a viable option. He had to calm down; he had to think this through.

Even now with his eyes closed, he could see her face from just before shift that evening. Her eyes had lacked their sparkle. She'd playfully suggested coming over his place after shift and he'd given her grief about it. He'd wanted some alone time to digest a new Entomology text he'd recently bought. His lack of enthusiasm had irritated her. "Give me a call when you actually feel like being with me" were, unfortunately, the final words of their last private exchange.

Even before Sara's disappearance that night he'd felt guilty for this was an ongoing thorn between them, his demanding time alone. Hell, he'd felt guilty the minute his words had extinguished the warmth of her smile. Several times that evening he'd tried calling her cell but been forwarded to her voice mail. Later when he learned of Walter Gordon's distant connection to the case, he'd over-reacted. God forbid when anyone in the lab checked Sara's cell phone for recent incoming calls. Grissom's name would appear far too many times to be warranted by business only.

He stifled a bitter laugh. He and Sara had successfully fooled their co-workers; no one had suspected that they'd been involved for the past several months. The thinly veiled concerned glances and sympathetic murmurings not so discretely exchanged about him during the course of this investigation revealed how complete their deception had been.

On the one hand, he was pleased that no one had noticed for he treasured his privacy; while on the other he was disappointed. He'd trained most of these investigators. Surely some things were different between him and Sara as a result of their involvement? No one had noticed any subtle glances between them? He most certainly felt different. The fact that no one else had a clue left him with a strangely hollow feeling.

Maybe that was part of the problem. Up to that point, he'd thought they'd been doing well as a couple, yet their recent disagreement and the failure of others to notice their blossoming relationship only reinforced what he was slowly just realizing. He'd been holding back. He was the one that threatened to suffocate the life out of their relationship. He was the one who had been stubbornly refusing to let go of old baggage -- the shards of his former life.

While he was undeniably in love with Sara and overjoyed to have her in his life, he'd been frightened. He'd been so terrified of completely losing himself in her that he'd clung to ridiculous things and rituals. Other than their first night together, he'd refused to sleep over at her apartment, typically leaving after sex, claiming he couldn't sleep well. He'd objected to her keeping any personal items at his house, despite the inconvenience to Sara. While she had eagerly given him a copy of the key to her place, he'd dragged his feet when it came to reciprocating. He'd balked at her suggestions to try new activities together. In his mind his behavior had been completely justified. He was old; he'd lived alone for years. It was difficult to change his ways.

Why had he been so afraid? His old life though familiar, hadn't always been comfortable, like a pair of old shoes which were starting to get frayed with the soles wearing out. It had been time for updating. It boiled down to the fact that he'd foolishly thought he was protecting himself -- cautiously wading into the pool rather than plunging recklessly into its full depths. And Sara had tolerated his idiosyncrasies, though he often wondered why.

Why had he been resisting so tenaciously? He'd only been deluding himself. The events of the last twenty-four hours had proven that he hadn't protected himself at all. He was already there – so deeply in love with her that the thought of her death and his subsequent life without her was excruciating. He was already lost without her.

An unexpected sob rose within him that he rapidly smothered; mortified that Brass might still be there. When he cautiously lifted his head from his hands, he discovered that Jim, the master of discretion, had slipped out of the room. At least there was one less thing to worry about. Jim was a true friend, one that actually understood him. In fact, Jim would've been just as uncomfortable as he would've been, had he witnessed Grissom falling apart. Assured of no audience, Grissom reluctantly allowed his harsh sobs to overtake him. His chest ached as it heaved, though he shed few tears and only issued low moans.

How was he going to find Sara? When they'd finally determined Andrew Wallace's motive and pieced together his story, Grissom was positive that they'd nailed him and he'd talk. But he refused. That sick bastard just sat there sneering at him, fully aware of Sara's fate, not saying a goddamn thing. He didn't care. He'd been caught committing murder and it didn't bother him in the least. Grissom was ashamed to realize that he needed to avoid that man, for he wouldn't be able to control himself around him.

There had been some tense moments during the investigation yet he'd managed to stay focused until that last interview with Andrew Wallace. Up to that point, he'd been convinced that Sara was alive and they'd find her. The evidence was consistent with her sustaining a minor injury. They hadn't found much blood. He'd also been assuming that Andrew Wallace wasn't a complete monster.

Unfortunately Grissom knew far too much to still feel hopeful. The evidence wasn't opening up any new venues and the suspect wasn't going to break. The odds were clearly stamped in black and white within the recesses of his brain. After twenty-four hours in missing persons' cases, they took a steep dive. Even if Sara had initially been alive, statistics no longer supported finding her alive.

He tried to contain his sobs, which sounded obscenely loud to him. He bent over, covering his face with his hands. He certainly didn't want to attract any more undue attention, though most likely Brass would've given every one a silent heads up to leave him be. The idea of everyone knowing his feelings for Sara would've humiliated him before all this. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted her back.

As his chest continued to heave, he recalled another sore spot in their relationship. He'd been reticent about three little words. "I love you" had spilled out of Sara's mouth naturally the first time they made love. She couldn't keep it in. She'd understood that it might take him some time to say it and she hadn't pressed.

As their relationship developed, she'd grown impatient. He'd dutifully say the words, under duress, sensing it was quite important to her. He'd recognized her verbal cues or annoyed glances whenever he hesitated. He'd parrot the words, like some perfunctory peck on the cheek when leaving some one at the train station. It wasn't exactly what she wanted but it was the best he could do.

It wasn't that he didn't feel that way, far from it. Those words just didn't come naturally to him. While he'd always felt confident that his parents loved him, his family had never been overly effusive or demonstrative. They hadn't talked about feelings or openly shown emotion. Those words weren't spoken aloud.

At times, her need for hearing them had irked him. Weren't those words in a sense like a ring or piece of paper, merely for show? Surely she didn't need that, surely she knew that he loved her with all his heart? Once again, he'd been holding back. If they found her…._when_ they found her, he'd shout it from the roof tops, no holds barred. No more wading for him.

Even imagining it was as his co-workers believed, that he wasn't involved with Sara during this crisis, it still would've been hell. He would've been miserable, filled with regret over missed opportunities. But unlike the Debbie Marlin case where he'd been able to channel his fears into his work, opening up to Sara had made him more vulnerable, as he'd feared. He hadn't been as effective searching for her as he had been during Nick's kidnapping, which made him feel worse. Work had been the one part of his life he could always count on, he excelled at it.

Yet despite all this, despite the anguish and his compromised efficiency on the job, he never regreted crossing that line. He didn't regret taking those steps to make their relationship a reality and if given the chance, he'd strive to improve it. Before Sara, his life had seemed so rich. Now it would all be meaningless without her. He thought back to when it had started

They'd waited at the hospital, wanting to assure themselves that it was truly over, that Nick was finally safe. The crew had been reluctant to leave but eventually they started trickling out of the waiting room. It had been a grueling ordeal for all of them. Grissom had continued to linger. Usually he sought the peace of his home after a demanding case. It soothed and comforted him. Yet that particular evening, he hadn't wanted to be alone. On those rare occasions that he'd felt this way in the past, he could usually talk Catherine or Brass into going out for a drink, but they'd already left.

Regardless of that, he'd wanted, no, he'd needed something else. Something that ministered to his soul, something that Catherine or Brass (or even sex with some anonymous beautiful woman) could never provide. He'd found himself running after Sara as she left the building, panting as he caught up with her in the parking lot, the thought of being alone even more frightening than his fears of a relationship.

They'd made a feeble excuse to get a drink, though neither was craving the dullness of an alcoholic haze. Sara didn't want to be alone either. They'd sat at the bar, numbed by the day's events. They'd had one or two drinks, not talking much, somehow managing to relax in each other's presence. They hadn't wanted to put the ordeal into words.

When his knee accidentally grazed hers and she didn't move, it sent a signal. Almost by instinct, his hand then had moved down to rest upon her thigh. His scotch and her beer had taken the edge off, but both were far from inebriated. They had been fully aware of what they were doing. They'd wanted it for a long time but had successfully squelched those cries. Now they were too intense to ignore. They hadn't wanted to talk themselves out of it.

Like any gentleman, he'd driven her home, not wanting the interlude to end, not ready to face his empty town house, while also attempting to deny any ulterior motives. His body had other plans. When he'd pulled into a parking space at her apartment, things became a blur. He couldn't remember the exact chain of events. Who had made the first move? Most likely they both had, their kisses were far from chaste or tentative, they'd claimed each other, searching and probing with their tongues.

Somehow Sara had managed to straddle his lap, her pelvis rubbing directly against his growing erection as they hungrily sought each others' mouths. When she'd realized what she was doing, she grinned with delight and continued, reveling in the sensation and he certainly hadn't objected. It suddenly wasn't a question of whether they would have sex, it was more a matter of would they be able to make it to her apartment or succumb to doing it in the car, a dangerous proposition for a guy pushing fifty. Since the driver's seat of the Denali was decidedly cramped quarters, Grissom had used his last vestige of self-control to suggest they go into her apartment. They'd hurried to her bedroom, not wasting time with lengthy explanations. They wanted, they needed. It was enough. They'd deal with the rest later.

One kiss had rapidly led to another, and they'd ended up in a tangled sweaty naked heap on her bed, with her bed sheets twisted about their ankles. When she'd told him that she loved him, it had startled him. He still hadn't thought he could give her what she needed, what she deserved. But in another sense, it had been immensely comforting -- to hear that she loved him. That was partly why he had felt so drawn to her - to feel safe, to bask in the warmth of her love.

He was ashamed it had taken Sara's disappearance for him to recognize that he still wasn't treating her as he should. He couldn't allow himself to wonder if she'd forgiven him for being so petty. There'd be plenty of time for self-recriminations later. Now he had to focus on finding her. However rather than mentally reviewing the evidence, weariness and numbness overcame him. He drifted off to sleep.

Later, his office door opening caused him to stir.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

Lost

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** Thanks for all your wonderful feedback! It is greatly appreciated. As always, thanks to PhDelicious for her valuable input. Although life has been chaotic with company and kids off from school, I hope to have a new chapter to post next week. Wish me luck!

**Summary:** When Sara disappears from a crime scene, the CSI team scrambles to locate her. During the course of their investigation, they are also puzzled by Grissom's behavior

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Season 6 (up to but **NOT** including "Daddy's Little Girl" 6.12)

**Chapter 7** Greg

**Wednesday 5:35 am Grissom's Office**

"Hello?"

Greg tentatively peeked into the dimly lit office; it was difficult to determine if anyone was in there. Then he discerned Grissom's shadowy outline as the man abruptly lifted his head from the desk. Brass had sternly advised them to leave Grissom alone. Greg had assumed that meant their supervisor was resting.

Normally he would never have considered incurring Grissom's wrath by interrupting him but he had an idea, one he felt confident could break the case. Once it had taken root in his brain, it had been next to impossible for him to sit around and wait for Grissom to stroll into the lab. While Greg could've discussed the possibility with Nick or Warrick, he wanted to run his theory by the best. He needed Grissom's input.

"Huh?" Grissom murmured groggily.

Greg turned to flip on the overhead light switch but Grissom grunted, vetoing that idea.

The young CSI cautiously stepped closer to Grissom's desk, taking a seat. His senses were screaming that something was off. It must be that he'd never seen his supervisor semi-alert, or perhaps the weird lighting. Greg certainly wasn't in top form either. In addition to completing a normal shift, they'd all been working this case for almost twenty-four hours as well, pausing only for brief breaks; they all felt like hell.

"What is it Greg?"

Greg paused, feeling confused. He'd been expecting a critical comment from his supervisor since he'd invaded Grissom's private domain and woken him up. His supervisor had been more caustic than usual during this investigation. Greg flinched, remembering how he'd practically given Warrick the third degree earlier. He'd also heard about Grissom badgering an airport security officer and later threatening their suspect while his lawyer was present. The stress was getting to all of them.

Rather than sarcastic or harsh, Grissom's voice had been slightly hoarse and unfocused. As much as he hated to admit it, Greg would've preferred for him to be annoyed. He knew how to handle that. This was throwing him off.

Swallowing his uneasiness, Greg proceeded. "I think we're looking at this wrong,"

No response from Grissom. It was unnerving.

Mentally preparing to be shot down, he asked, "Why do we believe Sara was in the trunk of Wallace's car?" Although Grissom could be terribly blunt, Greg needed him to challenge his theory, to pick it apart.

"We found her hair and blood in it," Grissom weakly stated. "Luminal lit up several small spots in the trunk."

He wished he could see his supervisor's features better to gauge his reactions. He'd have to rely on his instincts here. "You found the _hammer_ with her hair and blood on it in the trunk. Could the blood have been due to transfer from the hammer?"

Greg was convinced he was on to something big but he was all too willing to admit defeat if he was wrong. He didn't mind potentially making a fool of himself if it might help Sara. He hoped Grissom's silence indicated he was considering his suggestion.

Greg added, "I checked the trunk -- three times. There was no other trace."

"That doesn't necessarily mean anything," Grissom wearily cautioned him.

"I know, I know…"

"The gun and her phone were tossed onto Rt. 95, presumably as Wallace was driving back to his apartment after committing the crime. He could've easily dumped her body along that route. Day shift is still checking out that angle. Warrick and Catherine also found more beads from her necklace at his apartment so we can't completely rule out that possibility either," Grissom recited woodenly.

"That's right – the beads were in his bedroom and in the front pocket of some blue jeans found on the floor. They've searched his place thoroughly and there's no indication that she's there. Don't you think it's most likely that her necklace broke as he dragged her across the floor of Granger's unit? Warrick found beads at the primary crime scene and in the adjoining unit. Yet there were no beads in the dumpster –"

"In that mess with something so small, I could've easily missed it," Grissom sighed dejectedly.

Undeterred, Greg continued, "I took apart the trunk to see if any of those beads could've slipped through a crack – nothing. I think the beads in his bedroom resulted from some falling out of his pocket. He'd originally shoved them in there after scooping them off the floor when the necklace broke," Greg explained.

"What's your point Greg?" Grissom wearily responded.

"The evidence isn't conclusive that he removed her from Granger's building. There's no proof and the trail of beads doesn't support it," Greg said, then cut Grissom off before he could interrupt. "We're making this too complicated. I've seen the photos of the crime scene and the other unit. Look at Andrew Wallace. He may be smart but he's not that strong. Shoving Sara's body into the dumpster, even via the disposal chute would've taken strength, as would carrying her down those narrow spiral stairs or the fire escape. Can you honestly see Andrew Wallace doing that?"

Greg cringed, waiting for a tongue lashing about his faulty logic or some sophomoric mistake he'd made. But Grissom appeared to be pondering his argument.

"It's a valid point Greg, but we've been over that scene multiple times. The dogs were there and they lost her scent. Warrick, Catherine and I searched every possible hiding place in both units. If Wallace had gone out either condo's front door with Sara, security or some one would've noticed him lugging a body. There's no other way he could've removed her."

"Let's check it out one more time."

XXXXXXXXX

**Wednesday 6:05 a.m. Enroute to the Rex Granger's Condo**

Greg gripped the steering wheel tightly as he took a curve faster than customary. Wincing as the tires squealed, he glanced sheepishly towards Grissom, half expecting a gruff reprimand for reckless driving. His supervisor simply stared ahead blankly.

Since Grissom hadn't outright scoffed at his idea, Greg's confidence was steadily growing. He could be on the right track, they might actually find Sara – and soon. Thus his urge to return to the condo as swiftly as physically possible. He hadn't told Grissom everything, he'd purposely held back on the specifics. Though to be truthful, he wasn't sure about the details. He also hadn't wanted to jinx it; he hadn't wanted to destroy that revitalizing flicker of hope created by their only active lead. He impatiently floored the gas pedal to race through a yellow light; thankful he wasn't dealing with rush hour traffic.

Grissom remained eerily silent, his absent gaze fixed upon the dashboard. His eyes lacked that flicker of intelligence, their typical spark. The man seemed to have aged overnight; his shoulders were slightly stooped and additional wrinkles appeared about his eyes and mouth. Instead of being a strong, confident presence, he was a mere shell of a man.

Perhaps, Greg thought, this was to be expected since he, Grissom, and Nick had worked this case all the way through. Unlike the others, they had no one to go home to, nobody they needed to check in with. The CSI group was their closest semblance of local family. If Greg was worn out then Grissom, who was pushing fifty, had to be completely drained. Greg wondered whether his supervisor had eaten anything other than cardboard-like vending machine issue within the past twenty-four hours. He and Nick had grabbed hurried showers in the locker room in an attempt to revitalize themselves. Wearing the same clothes since the beginning of their original shift, Grissom, it appeared, hadn't even put out that much effort.

As he snuck another furtive peek towards Grissom, an uncharacteristic twinge of resentment seized him. Grissom had never been an emotional man. He'd never babied his team, held their hands, been effusive with praise nor had he extensively counseled them through personal difficulties. Despite this Grissom was an effective leader. He demanded, no, that was too strong a word, he expected the best from each of them which challenged them to stretch their limits. Their supervisor had never needed to put his approval into words; they'd always known when they'd done well. His stubborn determination and confidence in the team had sustained them through hundreds of tough cases. He set the tone for the lab. So why was he giving up now?

Why was he shirking his responsibilities? Didn't he understand how much they all depended upon him? How they followed his example? How dare he give up! How dare he not even ask about Greg's theory!

Although he hadn't wanted to share his idea since he was feeling foolishly superstitious, Grissom hadn't even tried to figure it out. His lackluster response bothered Greg. Why had Grissom suddenly dropped the ball? He'd always accepted the weight of that responsibility before, silently shouldering the burden, never complaining. Didn't he understand how much they needed him?

As he floored the gas pedal to rush through another yellow light, he examined Grissom's defeated slouch and reminded himself that there were mitigating factors as well.

_He's worried about Sara,_ he thought. _Like the rest of us_.

Last year had been torturous, watching Nick squirm in his Plexi-glass coffin, as they'd tried to anticipate what that lunatic would do next. Yet somehow, the frantic pacing of those events had been so rapid fire it hadn't given them much time to dwell on their fears or insecurities. That wasn't the case this time.

Although he'd been working throughout the entire case, leads had been few. Even after pouring over the evidence, they'd been stalled several times. In their business that wasn't anything out of the ordinary. During a normal case, he could've easily justified taking a break to clear his mind There wasn't any time for that in this case; each passing minute compounded the sense of urgency.

Greg had always liked Sara. She was a delightful combination of attractive, funny and smart. He'd been pleased that she was the one who ended up mentoring him last year. In fact, he'd felt that experience had brought them closer. He had fond memories of those times. Even before then, he'd flirted with Sara, half the lab had. Sometimes she'd flirted back, but inevitably she'd brushed it off in the spirit of fun. She'd never considered his comments to signify anything other than casual banter.

During this case, old rumors had been slowly resurfacing. For the most part, the investigators were all far too concerned about Sara to spend time discussing them. But they were there, all the same, hovering in the background: brief comments about Grissom's behavior with Warrick, or Catherine's sympathetic glances toward their supervisor, or Brass seemingly protecting him by insisting that no one disturb him in his office.

Greg partook of the gossip tree; he'd tended it well, even starting many of the stories, though always in the spirit of fun. He had never been a malicious person, that wasn't his style. He'd always balked at the intimation that Sara and Grissom were somehow interested or involved with each other. It was common knowledge that Grissom had personally invited her to join the lab, yet Greg had never especially noticed anything going on between them. On the job, their behavior had always been professional. While Nick and the others had occasionally entertained the possibility in the past, Greg had never given it any credence.

Given Grissom's current state, Greg was reconsidering his position. He wondered if his own crush on Sara had blinded him. But who was he kidding he could never have held his own against the illustrious Gil Grissom -- the confidence, the intellect, the looks. Well, Greg didn't consider himself to be bad looking yet he felt like sloppy seconds in comparison. Unless Sara had been impressed by his youthful vim and vigor along with his amazing grasp of pop culture, Greg never had much of a chance with her. The young CSI had never seriously pursued Sara, but he'd be a liar if he claimed he was never interested.

He couldn't bring himself to consider the gruesome fact that she might already be dead. He'd deal with that only when forced to. His heart was aching. And if there was any truth to the rumors, it must be ten times worse for Grissom. And it showed.

Greg slammed on his brakes, he'd been so preoccupied by his thoughts that he'd almost missed the turn. His heart raced, they were almost there.

He and Nick could have easily investigated this lead. Nick would've been much better company, with his cautious optimism. Yet Greg realized why he'd braved Grissom's wrath. Because Grissom was the one who needed to find her the most.

XXXXXX

**Wednesday 6:55 a.m. Adair Remodeling Job**

Greg carefully examined the window leading to the fire escape. Looking towards Grissom, he explained, "He'd have to have lifted her body up several feet to push it through the open window and then after getting her out on to the landing, he'd have to make it down the vertical extension ladder. Not a simple proposition while carrying a hundred ten pound unconscious female."

He walked towards the chute, gesturing to it. "If he'd used the chute he would've had to have lifted her body several feet also to place her into the mouth. Wallace may be smart but he's no construction worker – it would've been hard for him to do either. And if he had most likely Sara would've sustained additional injuries as a result of falling, which we would've seen signs of in the dumpster."

Under different circumstances, Greg would've brought along a dummy corresponding to Sara's height and weight and acted as Andrew Wallace to demonstrate his point. But time was a key factor.

Grissom rubbed his temples. "That sounds logical. It's a plausible interpretation but where are you going from there?"

"I'm working with what we have. Give me a moment," Greg was starting to lose his patience. He approached the head of the spiral staircase.

Anticipating Greg's next comment, Grissom replied, "Greg, I'll concede that your point also applies to the spiral staircase. It's possible she could still be here -- on this floor. But we've already looked every place we can think of. What else is left?"

Greg moistened his lips, not entirely sure himself. He was fully convinced she was here, but as to where, he'd felt his intuition would strike him once he examined the scene. He'd also hoped that he and Grissom talking things through would spark some ideas, but his supervisor was still preoccupied.

Nervously, Greg thought out loud. "Let's see. Wallace is the type of guy who is always looking for the easiest possible route," he eyed their surroundings. Dark mahogany wood flooring covered part of the master bedroom area. The job hadn't been completed. The drywall was restored on one wall while the others, including the walk in closet, were still stripped to the studs. Assorted tools and building supplies were scattered about. The master bath area was in similar disarray, with a wall partially plastered, a rose colored marble countertop lying on the floor, and a huge box containing a heart shaped whirlpool tub. When his eyes rested there, Grissom assured him,

"We already checked inside the boxes."

Although Greg was disappointed, he was pleased that Grissom was starting to participate. "Did you remove the tub? Her body could've been inserted in place of the packing material."

"Yes. We checked every box in this unit."

_Of course he did -- so much for that theory._

"Let's think this through," Greg squeezed his eyes shut a moment, striving to concentrate. "I checked Wallace's background. Like me, he had a family member with connections to a construction company. While he was in college he worked construction during the summers."

"He's familiar with construction sites. The fact that he removed the drywall to sneak into the nearby unit already tells us that," Grissom was getting irritable.

The gears started to shift in Greg's fatigued brain. "Wait a minute, he also knows how to install drywall _and_ he had a hammer and nails."

Suddenly Grissom was alert. Filled with purpose, he scanned the floor, searching through some tools. Selecting a crow bar, he stepped towards a wall, slinging the tool over his shoulder.

Half afraid he was going to start blasting at random, Greg yelled. "Whoa! Let's try to be logical. Where's the last place we found concrete evidence?"

Grissom strode across the room, "Here, in the master bath area. Warrick found several brown beads and some hair."

The men eyed the nearest wall.

"If I'm remembering correctly, the walls in bathrooms tend to be a little thicker, to allow for the pipes and such," Greg thought aloud.

Grissom slung the crow bar over his shoulders, selecting the wall closest to the last bead location.

"Wait! If Sara's really in there, you gotta be careful. Knock it out at the top since Sara's body will most likely have settled towards the middle and bottom. That way we can make a hole and peak inside." It was weird as hell telling Grissom what to do. It was even weirder expecting that he might act irrationally.

Using crowbars, they cautiously knocked holes high in the drywall and then they gently pulled away the broken pieces. It would've been more satisfying and gone much quicker taking massive swings. Greg sensed that Grissom was eager to tear down every wall in the unit. But Sara could still be alive so they couldn't risk it. One errant blow from a crow bar could be fatal. Twenty tedious minutes later revealed that Sara wasn't behind that particular section.

Greg wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, exhausted but determined to continue.

Grissom crouched on the floor, filtering through the broken plaster and dust that they'd just created. He abruptly grabbed something and showed it to Greg. A small brown bead.

With renewed effort, Greg and Grissom worked on the adjacent section of drywall, closest to the newly discovered bead. After cracking some of it, they painstakingly pulled off pieces with hammers.

"Slow down!" Grissom yelled, motioning towards the wall. "I see something." He grabbed Greg's flash light from his kit and shone it into the cavity. It was hair – Sara's hair.

Both men shouted her name but there was no response. Their hands trembled as they removed the drywall as quickly and carefully as possible. Little by little they uncovered her. While it was thrilling to see her face, her pale coloring was disturbing. Duct tape covered her mouth. As soon as he exposed her neck, Grissom reached in to feel for her pulse.

"She's alive," he practically whispered.

Tears sprang to Greg's eyes as they swiftly removed the rest of the drywall. Sara's wrists and ankles were bound with duct tape as well. When her body started to pitch forward, Greg and Grissom maneuvered her over to the floor. Grissom knelt beside her, ripping the tape from her mouth, pulling her body up to him and holding her closely. Greg could swear the man's shoulders were shaking. He was shaking too.

Greg came to his senses and called for an ambulance. Then he collapsed onto the floor beside the couple. Tears of relief threatened to spill out of his eyes, he fought to hold them back. They'd finally found her and she was alive!

The paramedics arrived within minutes, rushing in to transfer Sara to a stretcher. Grissom protectively hovered by her side, his eyes fixed upon her. They had some difficulty convincing him to release her so they could tend to her injuries.

"Let me give you a ride to the hospital," Greg offered.

"No, I'm going with her," Grissom firmly insisted.

One of the paramedics glanced toward Greg, silently asking for him to help out.

"You need to stay out of the way so the doctors can do their job. We'll be right behind them," Greg explained while steering Grissom out of the room as they followed the stretcher.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

Lost

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** Thanks for all your wonderful feedback! It is greatly appreciated. As always, thanks to PhDelicious for her valuable input. This has been lots of fun but there's only a chapter or two left. The song quoted in this chapter is "Never Been to Spain" by H. Axton. (I'm a Three Dog Night fan.) Since I've already used italics to denote private thought, song lyrics will be displayed as such//italics//.

**Summary:** When Sara disappears from a crime scene, the CSI team scrambles to locate her. During the course of their investigation, they are also puzzled by Grissom's behavior

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Season 6 (up to but **NOT** including "Daddy's Little Girl" 6.12)

**Chapter 8** Sara

**Wednesday 12:25 pm Desert Palms Hospital**

Her thoughts were muddled and disjointed. She knew she should attempt to pry her eyes open to discover where she was yet she lacked sufficient motivation as well as energy. Possibly she was in the hospital; she sensed a needle poking her arm and the odor of antiseptic filled the air. Medication dulled her aching head.

For several hours Sara drifted in and out of consciousness. Voices murmured and intermingled in the background – some real, some imagined. She knew she should listen to learn about her condition; frankly she would have been more concerned except she was too tired for eavesdropping. It took too much effort.

She was having difficulty distinguishing reality from illusion. Her thoughts wandered chaotically, bouncing about randomly, sometimes getting snagged on odd turns. Had one of the drugs produced this nauseating sensation?

//_Well I never been to Spain, but I kinda like the music.//_

The song sounded strangely familiar, more like her parents' taste in music than her own. Unfortunately since the lyrics kept repeating themselves so it must be stuck in her head rather than broadcasting in the room itself. It was getting old. Why had her brain fixated on a song that she didn't particularly like or feel any strong connection to?

//_They don't abuse it. Never gonna lose it. I can't refuse it.//_

Other voices joined the chorus of background noise.

"…keep her here for observation to assess the damage…"

"Let's check your temperature sweetie."

"Hang in there Sara."

_//Well I headed for Las Vegas. Only made it out to Needles.//_

"Her pupil response isn't good."

"I love you Sara."

_Huh? Is that Grissom? I must be imaging that too. He never sounds that sincere._

Images of a crime scene continued to replay in her head as well. She envisioned a shooter, poised by a bed, aiming his weapon down towards a victim below in the living room. Trapped in some sort of weird feedback loop, her addled brain calculated a trajectory angle based on the position of the entry wound in the body to determine the shooter's location. However, she kept making stupid mistakes. She could visual the vectors representing the bullet's path, she could even calculate the angle, yet somewhere in the process the final result was always mangled. Then rather than try to identify her error, her mind would doggedly re-start the process from square one for the umpteenth time.

//_Well they tell me I was born there. But I really don't remember.//_

"She's gonna be okay. She's strong."

"I love you Sara."

Imagined or not, it was wonderfully reassuring to hear Grissom's voice.

_//In Oklahoma, not Arizona. What does it matter? What does it matter?//_

Thankfully she passed out, relieved to escape the cacophony of her thoughts.

XXXXXXXXXXX

**Thursday 3:05 am Desert Palms Hospital**

When she regained consciousness, the din within her head had finally died down so she could concentrate better. Her body felt drugged, still far too heavy to move. A large warm hand covered one of hers.

What had happened to her?

The dull pain in her head and aching joints, along with the medication fog led her to conclude that she'd been injured. She tried to remember what she'd last been doing but her efforts were futile. Did it have something to do with that trajectory angle she'd been struggling to calculate?

_//Well I never been to heaven. But I been to Oklahoma.//_

Oh no, not that again! That blasted song still lurked in her subconscious. At least she had more control now so she could demote it to the background. It reminded her of being a child – driving along the coast with her family in their beat up VW. They weren't unpleasant memories; just not particularly outstanding ones. Why did this song continue to taunt her? What was the relevance?

Was her subconscious using it to bring up a repressed childhood memory? With her past, it was a possibility. But what could be worse than what she had already faced -- her mother stabbing her father; her father losing his temper with her when she was a child, hitting her, breaking her arm, collar bone or some other extremity; or seeing her father slap her mother so hard that her body slammed into a wall. What could be worse?

Or perhaps there was some significance behind the lyrics themselves?

_//In Oklahoma, not Arizona. What does it matter? What does it matter?//_

She was hard pressed to find that connection. Yet her brain struggled; there had to be some reason these words were lodged so tightly within her. The lyrics made no sense.

_//I never been to Spain.//_

Could that be a metaphor indicating regret for what she hadn't accomplished in her life?

//_It really doesn't matter_.//

Had she been depressed? She hadn't thought so. While her life hadn't gone exactly as planned, for the most part she thought it had taken a turn for the better in recent months. Her mind stubbornly fought to figure out the puzzle.

Of course the song could be completely meaningless, simply a bizarre byproduct of her injury. Yet a tenacious part of her clung to it, refusing to give it up, insisting upon its importance.

She gritted her teeth, gathering her strength to feebly squeeze the hand that covered hers, assuming it was Grissom's. She didn't know if he returned the motion, her effort drained her.

XXXXXXXX

**Thursday 11:15 am Desert Palms Hospital**

"Hey, you're awake," Warrick's relieved grin greeted her after she opened her eyes. As she'd suspected, she was in a hospital room, clad in a standard issue unflattering gown. Vaguely she recalled that she'd been awake earlier, though it had felt more like a dream. A doctor had examined her and asked her questions. Warrick rose from his chair and stepped closer to the side of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

She was having trouble seeing; her pupils didn't want to focus. "Been better," she croaked as she tried to lift her head.

"I'll bet." Warrick adjusted the pillows behind her head, so she could sit more comfortably.

"What happened?" Sara asked, confused.

He seemed preoccupied, staring at his knuckles rather than meeting her eyes. She wondered if he'd heard her question. She was about to repeat it.

"You…don't remember?"

"No." For the most part, her long term memory was intact. She remembered her personal history and who the President of the United States was. However, other parts were fuzzy; she couldn't recall what had happened to her, or the events leading up to it. Had it been so awful that her mind blocked it out? While that thought should be disturbing, it seemed distantly connected with her. Then again at that moment, other than that room and her immediate needs, nothing seemed especially concrete to Sara.

Could her blocked memory have something to do with that never ending song which even now lingered within the recesses of her mind?

//_I feel so good. I feel so good_.//

She was starting to feel curious.

"I'm sorry," Warrick murmured, as he gazed intently at the blanket covering her body.

What was she missing? While her ability to concentrate had dramatically improved over the past hours, it wasn't totally up to speed. However if she could trust her intuition, Warrick felt responsible for her injury.

"I should've been there," he confessed.

"What happened?"

His words were halting. "I left you alone at the scene so I could talk with Tina. Then I got caught up with the neighbors. By the time I got back, you were gone. I didn't think anything of it. I thought maybe you were checking out the perimeter or something else. If I'd reported you missing right then and there, we might have found you sooner." Guilt was consuming him, eating him raw.

"Weren't there guards at the entrance to the scene?"

"Yeah."

"Was there anything there to indicate a struggle or that something was off?"

He shook his head.

"Then why would you have had any reason to suspect anything? C'mon Warrick –what happened?" she urged.

He was reluctant; it was too fresh in his memory. "The perp returned to the scene. Did you see him?"

"I…don't know." She rubbed her temple with her left hand, surprised to feel gauze covering her head. Then she noticed Grissom flanking her other side. He was asleep in a chair, his head tilted back. His clothing was badly wrinkled and his glasses teetered perilously near the edge of his nose.

_His neck is going to be sore._

Her eyes lingered on him; she was touched that he was there.

Warrick sighed, drawing her attention back to him. "You know, you think after trouble hits that you've paid your dues. At least for a while anyway. My grandmother used to say troubles came in threes. Last year with the team breaking up, Nick being abducted, and then Tin…well… it seemed like it was finally time to breathe again. I thought we'd had our share of trouble. I should've clued in faster. I should've realized that something was off."

Although she had no idea about the rest of the details, Sara was fully aware that Warrick would never have intentionally put her into a dangerous situation. She continued to reassure him as best she could.

"Hey, it's okay. You did the best you could. I'm going to be alright." At least that's what she dimly recalled the doctor saying. Trying to prompt more from him, she added, "What happened next?"

"The next morning, I found some swabs under the bed. As far as I can tell, I think you were testing the bedspread for GSR."

That sounded oddly familiar. "Wait a minute. Was the shooter in a second floor bedroom that was open to the first floor? Like a loft?

"Yeah," He was somewhat encouraged that she was remembering.

"And the vic was at the bottom of the open stairway?"

"That's right," Warrick exclaimed.

That had been the last coherent thought in her mind, trying to calculate that trajectory angle. That's why it had been stuck in her head. She'd thought she might find GSR on the bedspread if the shooter had crouched to make his shot.

"The GSR test was a last minute thought. I'd finished processing the bedroom but after thinking about the shooting angle, I went back upstairs to test out my theory." One mystery was nearly solved, although she still felt as if it were incomplete. Now if she could figure out what that blasted song was all about.

Warrick hesitated, hoping she would remember more on her own. "Anything else?'

She shrugged then gently told him, "It's okay Warrick. Just tell me the rest."

"He knocked you out with a hammer and dragged you into the next unit through the closet."

A hammer? No wonder her head ached. Involuntarily her left hand reached to inspect the wound on the back of her head. Yet she couldn't move her right hand. Then she realized where it was. Grissom was still holding it. She tried to discretely remove it but his grasp was tight, even though he was asleep.

Great, after all the trouble they'd taken to conceal their relationship, Grissom would be appalled if Warrick noticed this slip. He must have fallen asleep when no one else was here. What was she going to do? Grissom had pinned her hand such that she couldn't move it. Maybe she could cover up their hands with the blanket? She'd have to do it left handed but it was worth a try.

Warrick's voice brought her back, "You were missing for over thirty hours. You don't remember anything else?"

"No." Had she been unconscious the entire time? Where had this lunatic stashed her body? What had he done to her? Other than her throbbing head and general aches and pains, along with some bruises, there didn't appear to be additional injuries. Did she really want to remember? Then she realized that it was better to know the truth for inevitably her imagination would come up with something much worse. "Just tell me."

He struggled, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously, "He hid you in a wall in the adjoining unit."

Warrick's horrified expression was enough. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me anymore," she insisted, wanting to end the man's misery. She didn't want to think about it anymore either. It was a blessing in disguise not to remember that. Most likely, she had been unconscious during the entire ordeal. Besides, she was also distracted by the immediate hand holding dilemma. Trying to be discrete, she awkwardly reached over with her left hand to pull the blanket to cover their clasped hands.

However, like her memory and her eye sight, her coordination was off as well. Instead of concealing the problem, she merely drew Warrick's attention to it.

_Damn. Grissom's gonna be furious with me._

Warrick's reaction took her off guard. Amused, he grinned. "Um…we already figured that out."

"Oh," Sara was slightly flustered, her cheeks growing warmer.

"So…you two? How long?"

Concerned about Grissom's reaction, she was deliberately unclear. "A few months." Then she realized Warrick deserved better. "Since last May."

He put two and two together and chuckled, "Looks like Nick started more than he bargained for. That's almost as long as Tina and I have been together. How's it going?"

Good question. She was having trouble remembering specifics. For the most part she'd say it was going well. Relationships always involved some give and take; it took a while to establish routines and develop a pattern of trust. She loved Grissom; she absolutely knew that for certain. Yet some days he could be difficult. He had habits that irritated her. Some she could live with and some….she wasn't so sure about. That last part sounded distantly familiar but rather than explore that train of thought, Warrick was expecting an answer.

"Okay," she grinned self-consciously. "You know, nothing's perfect…but it's…alright." She was anxious to get the spot light off of her. "How about you and Tina?"

He took a breath, "We haven't known each other nearly as long as you and Grissom have. I didn't think it would make a difference. But it does."

She wanted to insist that wasn't true. Even though she'd known Grissom for years, he had a distinct public face and a very different private one which she'd only experienced within the confines of their relationship. Yet knowing how sensitive Grissom was, how particular and keenly private he was, she kept it to herself.

"I get that."

He fiddled with his ring. "I don't know, it seems you get to the point where you need to fish or cut bait."

Those clichéd words touched her, grabbing her attention. Had she and Grissom had a disagreement? Had they been having problems?

"A point when you need to decide how committed you are. Or if you need to call it quits."

Although she was afraid of being too personal, she tentatively asked, "What have you decided?"

"My grandmother didn't raise a quitter. You honor your commitments and try to make them work. I'm not ready to give up, not yet. We're going on some marriage encounter weekend – trying some counseling. Hey, anything worth having takes work – right?"

Sara nodded; her eyes once again wandering back towards Grissom's sleeping form. Her memory was slowly creeping back. Did Grissom really love her? Was he willing to change for her or had he already given all that he ever could give? And would she be satisfied with that? Would it be enough for her? Part of Grissom would always be an enigma and she liked it that way. But she also needed a man who was willing to stay at her house overnight, to allow her to leave clothing over his home --to be overall a little more flexible. She yawned, growing fatigued.

Warrick noticed her gaze was fixed upon Grissom. "It was hell for him. I've never seen him like that. It was hard on all of us. Without Greg's insight it could've been…" his voice trailed off as he shuddered.

_My God, it had been that bad?_

The two weary men in her room confirmed it as truth.

She tried to be optimistic, "You know Warrick. Every day is a gamble, even if you don't work this type of job. You never know when you might get hit by a bus. You just don't know. You can't over analyze these things. If you had been at that scene with me that night, you might have protected me or found me sooner. Or the perp might have panicked and killed both of us on the spot. Nick survived. I'm gonna be okay. The point is to use your second chances wisely 'cause you might not get another opportunity."

Warrick nodded. "You may have something there. I better get going. Get some rest – ok?" He leaned forward to briefly hug her. "Glad you're alright."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

**Thursday 4:22 pm Desert Palms Hospital**

Sara's eyes fluttered. Several flower arrangements crowding the counter on the side of the room caught her eye -- a colorful spray of daisies, some violet and yellow irises, even an assortment of wild flowers. Were they new? Perhaps they'd been there previously and she hadn't noticed? Her sense of time was still off. One of the arrangements even featured brightly colored smiley face balloons. She grinned, willing to bet that one was from Greg.

Rotating her head, she noticed Grissom was awake, standing by the windows, pensively looking out. Although she'd seen him sleeping earlier, his slouched posture indicated he that was still exhausted.

//_They don't abuse it. Never gonna lose it. I can't refuse it_.//

No! Not this again. She'd thought her condition had been improving.

"Hey," she softly called to him.

He hurried over to her bedside. "Sara, honey. How are you feeling?" he asked, slightly hoarse. His hand rested lightly on her forearm. The obvious concern in his eyes was stirring.

Slightly dazed, she enjoyed examining at him. A slight odor suggested that he hadn't showered recently, though, given the circumstances, that didn't offend her. His rumpled royal blue oxford shirt stimulated her memory. She'd watched him button it as she lay naked on his bed. They'd been getting ready for their Monday night shift.

His intense stare reminded her that he'd asked a question. "Um…My head hurts and it's a little hard to see. I can't remember some things but the doctors said I'll be alright. It'll just take some time."

Cautiously he stepped closer to put his arms around her and gently pull her body towards him so he could hold her without interfering with her IV. Despite her bruises, it felt wonderful to be in his arms, pressed against the warmth of his chest. She wouldn't mind staying like that for a while. When he began to speak, Sara wondered if she was having a relapse. Was she hallucinating again?

"I was so scared. I thought I'd lost you," he practically whispered, while trembling.

The lyrics to that annoying song grew louder in her head, demanding attention.

//_But I really don't remember. In Oklahoma, not Arizona. What does it matter? What does it matter?//_

In a tone that Sara had never heard him use, Grissom confessed, "I love you Sara. You are my world. I'm sorry I was so stubborn and too stupid to even realize it. Can you forgive me?"

Taken aback, she wasn't sure how to react since several thoughts flooded her mind at once.

That song! That dreadful annoying repetitive song! The fact that it was stuck in her head had nothing to do with any profound meaning implied by the lyrics or any deeply repressed memories. That song had been playing on the radio when she and Grissom argued in the car that night before their shift started. The details rushed back to her. Arguing might not have been the right word for what they'd been doing, they had never out right yelled at each other. It wasn't their nature. He'd been more distant than usual, making flimsy excuses to avoid her. So much so that at that moment she'd started to wonder if she'd made a mistake like her mother had, settling for less than she needed. She'd wondered if it was time for her to move on.

"Can you forgive me?" Grissom repeated, anguish in his voice.

She'd never dreamed that she'd hear him speak like that about her, with such passion and urgent need. She'd almost given up hope that it would ever happen.

"Of course," she quickly replied, hating to see him suffer. Maybe some good could come from this harrowing incident. He loved her with all his heart and was finally showing it. There was something to work with. It was enough.

"I love you Sara."

It was intoxicating to hear him say those words with such sincerity, without being poked or prodded.

"I love you too."

Far too tired to hash out details, they held each other for several minutes. Then Grissom helped her get more comfortably settled in her hospital bed. He pulled a chair closer so he could sit and hold her hand.

"Sara, there's something that confuses me. You went back upstairs to the loft to test for GSR on the bedspread?"

She nodded, that memory was clear. Those odd trajectory angles had haunted her long enough.

Only now that the pressure was off, did it occur to him. "There's no way the bullet could've entered the body from that angle. It doesn't make sense. The shooter had to be standing."

He was right. Presumably she'd neglected to take into account some detail and thus her calculation had been destined to fail. She confessed, "Guess I was preoccupied." Their conversation in the car had rattled her.

Immediately catching on to her thoughts, he claimed, "I'm sorry. It's my fault. If you had been thinking more clearly, you wouldn't have gone back up those stairs."

While she appreciated the sentiment, she was getting tired of all this misplaced guilt. "You don't know that. It isn't anybody's fault. It just happened."

"I should've been able to find you," Grissom insisted with some frustration. "I was in that condo for hours. How could I have missed it?"

There was more than just ego involved here. "You did the best you could. You found me. That's all the really matters."

"I love you Sara."

"Uh-hem, sorry to interrupt," Greg brightly greeted them from the doorway.

_Oh God. Did he just hear that?_

Sara could feel the heat flooding her face. Greg noticed it too. "It's no big deal Sara. I've already heard it and so have all of the nurses on this unit," he good naturedly teased her.

She was shocked that Grissom had been so open about his feelings and that he wasn't affected by Greg's entrance. Then again, she had only just started to consider what he had been through. She hoped Grissom wouldn't revert to his old ways once things returned to normal.

Greg cheerfully bounded over. "So, how are you doing?"

"Better," she replied while pointedly squeezing Grissom's hand. "My memory is starting to come back."

"She didn't see Wallace," Grissom stated.

"That's okay, we have sufficient evidence from the duct tape and Sara's clothing to implicate him. Along with the hammer and Sara's hair and blood found in his car. Andrew Wallace is going away for a long time. No more executive perks for him."

"I hear you're the one who figured out where I was," Sara teased Greg.

He preened a little but then modesty took over, "If I didn't, I'm sure someone else would have."

"Thanks," Sara said while glaring at Grissom and squeezing his hand.

He got the hint. "Excellent work Greg,"

Greg straightened some. "Thank you." Then he took on a mock parental tone asking his supervisor, "Have you been home yet?"

Grissom sheepishly replied, "No…"

Sara was horrified, knowing that several days had passed. "Griss, go home. Take a shower. Change your clothes. Get some sleep in a real bed. I'm not going anywhere." Sensing Grissom was reluctant, she pleaded with Greg, "Can you please take him home?"

"Anything for you, my dear" the young CSI grinned.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

Lost

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** As always, thank you for your wonderful feedback which is greatly appreciated! Thanks to PhDelicious for her valuable input. Next week's final chapter may be delayed with the upcoming holidays and the possibility of jury duty cramping my schedule . I will do my best to post next week.

**Summary:** When Sara disappears from a crime scene, the CSI team scrambles to locate her. During the course of their investigation, they are also puzzled by Grissom's behavior

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Season 6 (up to but **NOT** including "Daddy's Little Girl" 6.12)

**Chapter 9** Nick

**Next Wednesday 9:27a.m. Enroute to Sal Grainger's home **

Nick yawned then gripped the steering wheel a little more tightly as he headed towards Sal Grainger's neighborhood. This probably wasn't the wisest course of action and his timing was lousy. He was irritable and tired. After the nightmare they'd been through working the Grainger case trying to locate Sara, it had taken little effort for Catherine to convince Ecklie that they all needed time off. Unfortunately their break had been short-lived. With both Sara and Grissom on leave indefinitely, Graveyard shift was subsisting with a skeleton crew. And even then, Warrick was anxious to head out on a marriage encounter retreat that upcoming weekend so Nick and Greg had graciously offered to double up on shifts to cover for him. Even Catherine was trying to grab some free time, trading shifts so that she could plan a short trip with Lindsey.

While working extra shifts would be draining, Nick didn't mind helping out Warrick. He was glad to have the opportunity to repay some of his debt after last year when he'd been the one on the receiving end. From his viewpoint it was far better to be able to give than receive.

It was encouraging that Sara was slowly recovering, regaining her strength and sense of equilibrium. Her head wound was gradually healing. Nick had visited her at the hospital and he'd even offered to take her home once she was discharged. He grinned, remembering that moment. Grissom, always hovering nearby, had immediately insisted that he had it covered, that she would be staying with him. Nick had been even more amused by Sara's bewildered expression. He and Greg, who had also been there, had chuckled privately over that exchange.

He wondered how those two were doing. Sara had been out of the hospital for three days and the two of them had been on leave for almost a week now.

_Those two workaholics must be climbing the walls._

Well, he had no idea what Grissom did for fun, perhaps he was easily amusing himself with his bugs or reading entomology journals but he knew not working would be a challenge for Sara, who regularly maxed out on overtime. While he'd been just as stunned as the others to learn that the two of them were already an established couple, he wished them well. He'd always suspected there was more between them than what met the eye.

Thinking back to his current mission, he wondered if he could go through with it. He dreaded facing Sal Grainger again. Just the thought of that sour man stirred up dangerous emotions within him. However, Nick's sense of integrity was compelling him; it needed to be done. Unfortunately his mind couldn't help but wander to other more hazardous issues.

Would he have the opportunity to confront Sal about his association with Walter Gordon and their kidnapping caper last May? Or maybe the operative question was should he? Would concrete knowledge that the surly despicable man took part in the plan that resulted in him being tortured serve any purpose?

Sal Grainger was never going to be punished, there wasn't any hard evidence. Yet the way he'd spoken to Nick last week suggested he'd definitely been involved. Nick had methodically sifted through Grissom's copious notes while his anger simmered. It was wrong, terribly horribly wrong. And Sal watching his daughter suffer was not an adequate punishment, not by any means. Nick had struggled to swallow his growing rage; he hated feeling controlled by it. He'd thought he already dealt with these problems and put them behind him. He'd been dismayed to discover that this had still been an issue.

And what would he say if he actually had the opportunity to confront Sal? While punching that despicable man in the face would provide immense momentary satisfaction, that wasn't the way to go. He was a better man than Sal; he couldn't sink to his level no matter how tempting it was. Despite his daughter's deteriorating condition, Sal had had other options. Instead the bitter man had chosen to sell out his humanity, tormenting an innocent human being for revenge and potential financial gain.

How much of the plot had been Sal's idea? His constant carping would've set anyone on edge. Had his vitriol slowly poisoned Walter? Or perhaps he and Walter Gordon had been kindred spirits from the start in that respect, spending years bitching about the company and life in general and about how everybody owed them, with Kelly's imprisonment being the ultimate last straw?

If an opportunity arose to confront Sal during this visit, Nick was ashamed to admit that he would seize it. He hungered for it. Nick longed to confront the man to hold him accountable for what he'd done. He was embarrassed that he'd grab the chance in a heartbeat despite the fact that it wouldn't change anything.

As he pulled the Denali into the driveway, Nick tried to calm down, taking deep breaths. He had to suppress those feelings and maintain control. This task would be onerous enough as it was. On the off chance that his unruly emotions should emerge and cloud his judgment, he locked his firearm in the glove compartment.

He should've told someone he was coming here especially given Sal's colorful past escapades. Yet he doubted that Sal Grainger would actually harm him. Their past tactics had shown that he and Walter Gordon were cowards – they'd never faced their victim. When they'd hatched their hideous plan, they hadn't even known who their intended victim would be. Nor had they cared.

Nick hadn't mentioned where he was going to anyone because he hadn't wanted to be talked out of it. While the others most likely would understand his need to confront his presumed attacker, if they'd learned his primary reason for visiting they would think he was out of his mind.

He took a breath, his hands slightly trembling as he knocked on the door -- so close to the distasteful Sal Grainger. Nick almost felt physically ill; he didn't want to be there. He didn't want to labor to speak civilly with the man who had played a role in torturing him. He didn't want to be infected by the bitter rage that thoroughly possessed Sal Grainger. Yet this had to be done.

Sal grimaced as he opened the door. "Well, well, well. Las Vegas's finest. What are you doing here?"

Sticking to business, Nick replied, "I need to speak with you. May I come in?"

Sal twisted his lips in amusement. "You were barking up the wrong tree _again_ – me as a suspect?? I don't know why the tax payers keep you on."

Nick ignored the barbs. "I thought you'd like to know more of the details about your brother's case."

"What else is there to know? That Wallace guy tried to steal Rex's intellectual property and sell it as his own. Nothing more to that."

"Sir, if you let me in, there is more," Nick insisted while his heart beat hitched up another notch. He wasn't eager to enter the man's home but he'd rather not stand outside in the blazing sun for a potentially lengthy exchange. The sun's glare and his fatigue affected his concentration and he needed to be at his best for this chore.

Sal Grainger complied, begrudgely opening the door wider to provide him access.

Perched on the edge of a sagging sofa that had seen better days, Nick explained, "You might be interested in this. A few months ago, Rex started working on a project and he consulted with Andrew Wallace about a minor aspect. Then your brother's superiors felt they wanted him to spend his time on other projects so it was officially shelved. Except during the brief time they'd worked together, your brother and Wallace realized that the project had enormous potential and they knew exactly what needed to be done to create the program. Phone records show that Wallace was pestering Rex at home and at work, presumably trying to convince him to continue working on the program."

That was about the time when Rex's coworkers had noticed that he was becoming fiercely protective of his lap top, and that he'd avoided Andrew Wallace's phone calls.

"Just like Rex. Be a good lap dog and do what the company says," Sal derisively spat. "Always did was he was told."

"You might be surprised to learn that Rex's computer files show that he didn't let it drop. He kept working on the project. On his own. He was following your advice, if that's any consolation."

Silence greeted him.

Nick continued, "In fact, Rex had some personal days scheduled for the end of this month. When we delved a little deeper, we discovered he had scheduled a meeting with a potential outside buyer for this process."

Sal remained quiet.

"Apparently Andrew Wallace had a mutual acquaintance at the firm or things might have gone down much differently. When he caught wind that Rex had actually completed the program and was trying to market it without him, without cutting him in for a piece of the profits, he was furious. Although his work was only a small portion, he'd contributed to the project and felt that he had a right to the proceeds. That spurred on his plans to murder Rex and present the program as his own work to a different buyer."

Nick was amused by Sal's lack of comments.

"Guess Rex was trying to make a killing so he could retire early and keep living the good life. Maybe he was a little smarter than I thought," Sal grumbled.

"Know what else we discovered? Rex had discussed the details of the sale with his lawyer to determine the most efficient way to funnel the proceeds to take care of Ronnie's medical expenses."

It was an unfamiliar expression for him. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Sal Grainger was contrite.

"You gave up too soon. Rex was willingly to compromise his ethics to help you and your daughter. What bigger sacrifice could you have asked for?"

Sal merely stared ahead, shaking his head in disbelief.

Producing some documents from his jacket pocket, Nick explained, "This release form confirms that you were not involved in your brother's murder and when you give this to your lawyer and insurance agent it will expedite the processing of Rex's assets. That way Ronnie can benefit from the money as soon as possible, maybe help her live a little more comfortably for…a while." Sadly enough the girl's condition was critical. She couldn't be saved. He'd checked her medical records.

Nick didn't have to do any of this. It wasn't standard procedure; he'd gone well beyond the scope of his job. He should've left it alone and been done with it. Yet this meeting had become inevitable once he'd seen Ronnie. Her gaunt form haunted him. Regardless of her hateful father and his hideous crimes, she didn't deserve to suffer. There didn't have to be any more innocent victims perpetuating the cycle. If Nick had anything to say about it, it would end here.

After a moment, Sal regained his composure and glared at Nick.

To clarify any misconceptions, Nick stated, "I did it for her."

An ugly smirk revealed that Sal thought he was weak. "Yeah, I'll bet," he replied, his voice oozing sarcasm.

While a twinge of anger flickered within him, Nick strove to remain calm and spoke the only words he could. "I have to live with the guy I see in the mirror every day." He wondered how Sal managed to do the same. He sighed with some relief, it was almost over. Then he reached into his pocket and shoved a check towards Sal. "Here."

"What's this for?" His guard was raised as he examined it.

"From me. For your daughter. It's not much but I can't let somebody suffer when I can do something to help." _Unlike you_ came to Nick's mind but he immediately extinguished the thought. This was hard enough for him to do. But it was right.

"I don't need your pity. Get out!" Sal bellowed, rising from his seat as he crumpled the check in his fist.

Nick took that as his exit cue, quickly standing. "It's not for _you._ Think of Ronnie. She's all you have left." Then he strode towards the door.

Once in the driver's seat of his Denali, Nick collapsed, slightly clammy with nervous perspiration. He'd done it. It was over. Then he realized that it had never occurred to him to confront Sal about his kidnapping while he'd been in that house. Nick had been too focused on what he'd been doing. The ordeal which had started last May was truly finally over. Nick hadn't needed to ask that pathetic excuse for a man why he did what he did because it didn't matter anymore.

TBC


	10. Chapter 10

Lost

By Joan Powers

**A/N:** Real life has done its best to prevent me from finishing this story. But I'm pleased to finally present the last chapter of Lost. If you've enjoyed this story or have constructive suggestions, I'd love to hear from you. Thanks to all of you who've already sent feedback -- it's been greatly appreciated. This chapter wouldn't have turned out as nearly well without helpful suggestions from PhDelicious -- thanks! In this chapter italics denote flashbacks.

**Summary:** When Sara disappears from a crime scene, the CSI team scrambles to locate her. During the course of their investigation, they are also puzzled by Grissom's behavior

**Timeline/Spoilers:** Season 6 (up to but **NOT** including "Daddy's Little Girl" 6.12)

**Chapter 10** Sara

Several weeks later 7:15 a.m. Rome

Sara languidly stretched her limbs then snuggled closer to Grissom's bare chest. She enjoyed listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing as he slept. She still couldn't believe they were really here, that they'd taken off on the spur of the moment to hop a flight to Rome. Well, it hadn't been completely spontaneous but for meticulous people like herself and Grissom, it had practically been a whirlwind decision. She hadn't thought he could be so impetuous. Nor had she believed it of herself. Blissfully comfortable next to her lover beneath the sheets, she had no regrets.

The past few weeks had been a blur -- so different from normal. It was almost as if she'd started a new life. At first she'd thought her head injury had been clouding her judgment since it had been difficult for her to focus. Yet as the days passed and her condition improved, she'd realized that Grissom really had changed.

Originally she'd assumed that his transformation might be short lived, that his resolve would falter once the stress of the moment dissipated, once life returned to more predictable patterns. It would be all too easy to slip back into those old familiar routines, especially for Grissom. That had been part of their growing problem – his stubborn clinging to his old ways, his reluctance to fully open up to her. Although he'd wanted to be with her, he'd been resistant to making changes.

However, in the hospital, he'd remained firm, openly embarrassing her with his frank proclamations of love regardless of his audience -- co-workers or even complete strangers. It wasn't that she didn't feel the same way about him or that she didn't want to hear it. Every time he'd said he loved her with such passionate conviction, a tingle of joy shot through her. The switch had been rather abrupt, that was all.

They'd spent months carefully concealing their relationship, purposely taking separate vehicles to work, never leaving the lab together or even at the same time, and avoiding central locations during off hours where others might have discovered them. They'd devised a phone code to conceal personal conversations at work, though that had been mostly for emergencies rather than idle chatter. After having that rigid mindset for several months, Grissom insisting that she was going home with him right in front of Nick and Greg had been overwhelming. She'd assumed he'd only intended for her to stay for the duration of her recovery, since he'd been so hesitant about her staying over night in the past.

She'd half wondered if her Grissom had been replaced by an alien. The man who had refused to let her leave a tooth brush at his place had cleared off the bathroom counter for her beauty supplies. Without prompting, he'd emptied half of his closet for her clothing and managed to find several drawers as well. He'd encouraged her to explore his beloved collection of books which in the past had been designated for show only. He'd even picked up vegetarian take out without grumbling and omitted his requisite meat offering.

However, it hadn't been a flawless transition by any means.

"_What's…all this?" Grissom visibly stiffened while he gestured dismissively to some containers on the vanity as if he was afraid to touch them in fear of contaminating himself._

_Reacting to his stern tone, Sara hurried over. Then she took a breath and tried to lighten up the moment. "Foundation, deodorant, eye shadow, moisturizer…" she rattled off. Holding up the moisturizer, she explained, "It keeps my skin soft. That's good, isn't it?" She winked suggestively at him, brushing up against him._

_The wheels were slowly turning in his head as he consciously made an effort to be more flexible. Forcing a smile that soon became more genuine as he considered the implications, he agreed. "Soft skin is definitely good." _

_However he was still partially focused on the counter, concerned by the clutter. Then he suggested, "You know, maybe you could get a basket to put all these containers in. That way they'd be handy but we'd have more space."_

"_Excellent idea." _

She'd kept waiting for the bomb to drop, for Grissom to revert to his old ways. And in some respects, he did regress. His displays of affection and proclamations of love became limited to more private venues, much to Sara's relief. After all, they were both intensely private people. Gradually Grissom also became less paranoid about her well being, he'd been anxious about leaving her alone in the hospital, afraid of losing her again. Even when they'd arrived at his home, he'd hovered close by, rarely leaving her by herself. His attentiveness had been sweet but cloying. It hadn't made sense to Sara, but she'd reasoned that she hadn't experienced what he had during the crisis. Perhaps she would've behaved in a similar fashion.

In some respects, spending more than a week sequestered with Grissom in his town house was trial by fire. Two intensely private people, both obsessed by their work suddenly with excess time on their hands. It would've been a trying proposition solo. With two of them, it was a potentially lethal situation. As expected, they'd occasionally grated each other's nerves.

_Sara was attempting to get comfortable on the couch, with limited success. She hated to admit it but she was bored. Although the throbbing in her head had drastically decreased, the dull thud still made it difficult to concentrate on reading. She was trying to find something on the television to engage her attention or at least distract her. When Grissom trailed into the room, his grim expression raised the old red flags. _

_What had she done now? In the past he'd stare at her or just storm off, leaving her to wonder._

_This time, he paused. "Uh…Sara…I'd like to do some reading. Would you mind if I turned off the television? I could put on some Mozart. Or you could make a selection."_

_Stunned that he'd even made the suggestion, she wasn't sure how to respond. She was about to automatically acquiesce, but she fought that urge. Her needs were also important. Normally she would've been happy to join him. But she was feeling out of sorts._

"_Another time maybe? My head is bothering me so I'm having trouble concentrating on reading. I need something light to distract me."_

_To her amazement after they'd found a documentary on the History channel to watch together, he offered to massage her temples._

Finally when conflict arose there had been discussion, finally some give and take. Sara no longer had to guess as to what was going on in his head. Finally they felt more like a couple who worked together to resolve such mundane issues as what brand of coffee to purchase, which TV news station they preferred, or the best way to store fresh vegetables along with other customary household chores. In the past, she'd never felt she'd had the option to change anything. That she had to adapt to his world or else.

Most important, that invisible barrier that in the past had only been breached when they'd made love was lowering. While she was aware that she'd never completely know Gil Grissom, now she was experiencing far more than she ever had before.

She'd been pleased with their strides and thrilled they were growing together as a couple. Then, just before her return to work, Grissom had continued to astonish her by insisting she move in with him.

"_Sara?" Her blank stare in response to his request frightened him. He repeated himself, wondering if she hadn't heard him the first time, "Do you…want to move in with me? Or we could buy a new house…" Her prolonged silence was making him nervous. "Sara?" His pupils darted about anxiously scanning her._

"_I'd love to." _

"_I could take down some insect displays in the living room to make room for your art work. You could even pick out a new bedspread or curtains, or paint if you want to. I want you to feel at home."_

They'd packed her belongings the next day. Grissom had insisted that she return her apartment key, removing that safety net.

Sara studied the morning sunlight trailing into their room through the elaborate oval windows. The ornate wooden four poster bed and other old fashioned accouterments reminded her that she was far from home. Their quaint bed and breakfast, a castle that was over a hundred years old, was a far cry from a Holiday Inn or even a suite at the Bellagio. She'd never been to Europe before. Grissom had traveled there some, mostly on business for conferences but never with 'such a lovely female companion' as he'd charmingly put it.

During her recovery, they'd discussed travel plans in a far off day dream sense more to kill time than anything else.

"_I'd like to go back to the rainforest. It's a fascinating place – you wouldn't believe how many species of insects and frogs there are. The variety of plant life is just as amazing," Grissom explained as he lay beside Sara, stretched out on their bed. _

_Sara was surprised, it seemed like there was always more to learn about Grissom_

"_I don't know. That sounds intriguing but…adventurous. After what I've been through recently, I need something less rugged – maybe some place with a beach or hot tub," she grinned._

"_What about a cruise?" he asked, though his tone indicated he wasn't completely thrilled with the notion._

_Sara considered it briefly. "I hear the food is wonderful. It would be great in the self-indulgence department. But I'd need some sort of mental stimulation, otherwise it would get dull quickly. And if we went on any type of conference cruise, it wouldn't be a vacation." It didn't matter anyway, they were just killing time._

_She remembered a program they'd watched the other day on television. "How about Rome? They have those Roman baths," she joked. "It would be neat to check out the Forum, the Colosseum and the Pantheon -- all that ancient architecture."_

_Grissom brightened up, "That's a wonderful idea Sara. We could spend a week just exploring all of the monuments. We could visit ruins of Pompeii – the ancient city buried by Mt. Vesuvius. And all those galleries displaying works of old masters. My mother once traveled there and loved it."_

"_Not to mention, there's some pretty good food and wine," she smiled._

Then they'd gotten caught up with moving and her returning to work so she'd forgotten about the discussion.

For the most part, she'd had no trouble back on the job. She had no memory of her attack or those missing hours. In fact, Grissom had been more apprehensive than she had been which had annoyed her and set her slightly on edge. Even the guys were more protective of her. On her first night back, she'd caught Grissom trying to slip her an easy case. She'd given him an earful about that.

Once they'd settled into a comfortable rhythm at work, Grissom had called her into his office. At first she'd thought it was related to a case, but he'd asked her to close the door behind her. The broad smile on his face had also tipped her off that something was up. Then he'd showed her two planes tickets to Rome, with the flight leaving the next day.

Rome had been everything Grissom had built it up to be. Although she had already been familiar with some aspects of the city, she'd tried to play catch up, eagerly devouring guide books on the plane. But that hadn't been necessary for her companion was an expert.

They'd visited several famous monuments: Domus Aurea -- the ruins of Emperor Nero's legendary Golden House, the Collosseum where they imagined themselves attending gladiator contests, the Forum, the Pantheon, along with many others. Sara had been excited to check out Palatine where the legendary Romulus killed Remus in 753BC. Trevi fountain had been a beautiful sight at night. They'd even bought a camera and asked locals to snap their picture at some of the sights.

Their days had been filled with exploring monuments, visiting the Vatican, museums and art galleries. They'd immersed themselves in local culture – sampling the regional cuisine and wines in open air cafes. They'd fallen into the pace of the area -- lingering over meals and actually enjoying the relaxed atmosphere. This trip had reminded them that their common interests far exceeded crime scene investigation. Since they'd both focused so intently on their jobs before they'd become a couple, it was pleasant to realize that those other interests had only been dormant rather than lost.

Yesterday she and Grissom had been exploring a local market.

"_Let's check out that display," Grissom suggested._

_As they meandered about the narrow aisles, Sara paused to admire a long white off the shoulder silk dress. Grissom startled her, speaking over her shoulder._

"_You'd look beautiful in that. Why don't you buy it?"_

_She laughed, "You've got to be kidding. How many times have you seen me wearing a dress? It's just not me. It would be a complete waste. The dress would just sit around in a closet and collect dust."_

_He solemnly caught her eye and assured her, "I can think of a good use for it."_

Grissom stirred in bed, drawing her attention back to the present, yet he didn't open his eyes. She'd need to wake him up soon; they had plans for the day. She studied the ring on her finger and admired how the diamond sparkled when sun light touched it. The white silk dress rested on a nearby chair, with a bouquet of lilies in a vase on the adjacent table.

Grissom was certainly full of surprises. Suddenly the man who had rejected all traditional symbols of love or couplehood as antiquated and provincial wanted them all. The ring, the paper, the possessive hand on the shoulder or waist, joint assets -- he wanted it all.

Sara had been pleased by his unexpected proposal but a little concerned. Were they taking things too quickly? Would Grissom regret rushing into this? As much as she loved him, she didn't need the bells and whistles. He loved her, it was enough. Then he'd told her that shortly after she'd moved in with him that he'd had his mother's engagement diamond soldered into a newer band and had only been waiting for the right moment.

She nearly died laughing. With Las Vegas being the ultimate place for quick marriages, it would've been so easy for them to pop into any number of chapels featuring a wide variety of themes. It wouldn't have been so challenging to find proper accessories. Why did they have to travel half-way across the world to get married? Then she realized that Grissom wanted more than just that piece of paper, more than the formality of the ceremony. He wanted the start of their new lives together to be special.

She sat up in bed, realizing that this trip and their subsequent marriage hadn't been nearly as spontaneous as she'd originally thought. Last night Grissom had handed the priest a stack of forms to authorize their union. That had taken prior preparation. But what a delicious surprise it had been for her that he'd done all the ground work.

Checking the display on the clock on a nearby table, Sara realized she needed to prod her husband to get him moving. Ironically enough, before their spur-of-the-moment wedding, they'd planned to visit the ruins of Pompeii today. She wasn't sure if that was an auspicious sign for starting a marriage – visiting the ruins of an ancient city. But she didn't care. They'd never been nor would they ever likely be considered normal in any sense of the word anyway.

THE END

Hope you had as much fun reading this as I did writing it!


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